The Orphan: Book II
by SpiderLily
Summary: Second year for Harry and Blaise is up and running! This year there's the revelation of the Heir of Slytherin, but his evil doings won't work out quite the way he planned... Continuation of SaphirePhoenix's story. AU Second Year FemBlaise
1. Prologue: The End of Year Feast

**_Summary: _**Second year for Harry and Blaise is up and running! This year there's the revelation of the Heir of Slytherin, but his evil doings won't work out quite the way he had planned. . . .

**_Disclaimer: _**I don't own it, so why are you bothering to ask?

**_Betas (And the Reviewers and Friends that Continuously Helped Me):_ **_SaphirePhoenix_, _Curse of Immortality_, _what are you even saying_, _Royari_, _Gabwr_, _BitterIcing_, _Moony's Metamorphmagus_, Joey, Allison (who told me writing was cool and asked when I was going to get published), Miranda (who kept wanting to read parts and pieces of the chapters I was writing in class and adding more romantic bits), Tiffany (who's perkiness cheered me up on the worst days), Justina (who put her hands on her hips and chewed me out when I told her I didn't have anything written for a chapter in three months), and Hayden (who told me I was a good writer, but he didn't know why). Naturally, I cannot name all of my reviewers here, but know that, even if you aren't mentioned, I love you dearly for your support and constructive criticism.

**_Authoress's Note:_** I would like to dedicate this continuation to _SaphirePhoenix_, the wonderful author of the first story in this series. (If you have managed to find this story--but not the prequel--the link to The Orphan: Book One can be found in my profile.) She will write her own sequel, I'm only doing this for fun, as she has allowed me. Some of the ideas in this story I have received from her and twisted around and changed them up to make them my own. I ask that, when and if she writes her own sequel, _no one accuse her of plagiarism_.

* * *

**Chapter One: The End-of-Year Feast**

In some ways Albus Dumbledore was like a small child, except for the obvious fact that he was not. He was still eager to observe the world around him. Bouncing on the balls of his old, wrinkled, and worn feet excitedly under his long, violet, constellation-covered wizarding robes when he felt that something fun was about to happen. New things or situations still made him nervous—like a ten-year-old child instead of his hundred and forty-three years.

At the time he was not nervous because he felt something _good_ was about to happen soon. Oh, no, he was nervous because for once, he had absolutely _no idea_ of what to do in the situation he was in.

Of what, you ask?

Harry Potter and Blaise Zabini. Certainly not the _only_ orphans at Hogwarts, but they were the only two orphans who lived at an orphanage. A _Muggle_ orphanage, no less, which created unpleasant circumstances for a lot of people.

But why is this situation unpleasant? Because both of them had made it clear to Albus—and the rest of the staff—when they had come to Hogwarts before term started that they did _not_ want to go back. Mr. Cromwell, the orphanage instructor of St. Margaret's, did not particularly want them back, either, and seemed content to try to forget they existed.

They most _certainly_ couldn't stay at Hogwarts; they would get bored—after a while, anyway. The orphanage was out of the question even without the instructors hesitation, what with all of the Memory Charms that would need to be cast—on the other children as well as the teachers. Maybe they wouldn't object _too_ badly to going to stay with the _Dursleys_—the only living relatives of Harry. That is, if the Dursleys didn't object to it. . . .

Just then, someone rapped smartly on the door to his office with the brass knocker.

Smiling softly, Albus got his bowl of lemon drops ready and replied to the not-so-mysterious knocker, "Come on in, Minerva."

"After nearly thirty-five years of working here, it never ceases to amaze me that you always know when it is me," Minerva McGonagall answered grimly, opening the door and moving to take a seat.

"Call it a Headmaster's intuition. Lemon drop?"

"No, thank you."

Albus sighed, "Ah, well, maybe next time." Popping a lemon drop into his mouth and savoring the taste of sourness that comes with lemon flavors, he inquired, "What is it this time, Minnie?"

Pursing her lips into a thin and dangerous line at the ridiculous nickname she had acquired from him recently, she replied, "I expect that you will reward House points to the four students who helped save the Stone?"

"Five."

"Excuse me, Albus?"

"Yes, four students helped save the Stone, but one more tried to stop them."

"But why would you award points to a student who tried to stop them?"

"Because that student is Neville Longbottom, and he showed great courage in trying to stop Miss Granger. I am sure I should award him points for finally showing the trait."

"Oh," Minerva breathed. For once, she was speechless.

"I have calculated the points I shall give them," Albus continued, "and I daresay that you will be shocked at the outcome." He grinned slyly at the questioning look on Minerva's face.

"What's the outcome?" asked Minerva. But curiosity killed the tabby cat.

"Did you honestly think that I would tell you?" inquired Albus.

"No."

"Well then, it seems you have your answer," he cheeked.

"Whatever the outcome is, I'm sure Molly and Arthur will be proud to know that their youngest son has finally _earned_ points instead of _losing_ them," Minerva concluded.

At this simple statement, a light bulb seemed to click on in Albus Dumbledore's wise and prestigious mind and he ushered Minerva out of his office while ignoring her protests (she hadn't yet told him what it is she had come there for) to formulate his plan.

**oOoOo**

"Madam Pomfrey, look, I love you and everything, really, but you've got to let me out of here someday!" Harry pleaded.

The woman called Madam Pomfrey snorted. "Absolutely not. You need rest, Mr. Potter, you are weak," the strict nurse insisted stubbornly.

"Come on, Madam Pomfrey . . . this is the End-of-Year Feast!"

She eyed him shrewdly before saying, "Fine, but let me give you one last checkup."

Harry narrowed his own emerald eyes at her angrily, but allowed her to examine him unnecessarily, poking and prodding as she did so. After she was finished fussing with him, she reluctantly allowed him to go to the feast.

As they parted ways, Madam Pomfrey gave him one last warning.

"Don't you dare overexert yourself, Mr. Potter!" was the last thing Harry heard as he rushed down the halls so he wouldn't be any later for the feast.

**oOoOo**

When Harry arrived at the Great Hall, it was already full of students thoroughly enjoying the feast. The whole hall was decorated in colors of blue and bronze to celebrate Ravenclaw winning the House Cup for the first time in ten years. A huge banner that displayed the eagle of Ravenclaw was situated behind the High Table.

As soon as he entered, there was a sudden hush throughout the hall. Harry rushed over to the Slytherin table with his head bowed so that no one could see any more of the dark pink tinge that was currently coating his cheeks. Quickly, he situated himself into a seat between his friends, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott.

"Hey, Harry, you should try the some of this chicken; it's absolutely scrumptious," Blaise started, immediately piling what little was left on the chicken onto his plate.

"That's all I get? No 'Wow, Harry, that crazy woman finally let you out of the hospital wing!' or 'Look, Harry's here! How are you feeling now that that crazy woman has finally let you out of the hospital wing?'" Harry complained sarcastically.

"Oh . . . sorry, Harry," Blaise apologized sheepishly. "So, Harry, how are you feeling now that that crazy woman has finally let you out of the hospital wing?"

" . . . You scare me Blaise . . . very much. . . . But now that you mention it, I'm feeling much better."

"Both you and your girlfriend scare me, Harry, as I'm sure both of you scare everyone you meet." Theo patted his shoulder sympathetically.

Harry narrowed his eyes at him menacingly, just as Blaise shouted, "I'm not his girlfriend!" for all of the approximately one thousand, two hundred ears in the Great Hall to hear.

"Oh, yeah? If you _really_ weren't Potter's girlfriend, you wouldn't be so _defensive_ about it," Theo argued.

At this remark, Blaise's cheeks turned pink. "I _hate_ you. Bloody _git_," she muttered under her breath. All the while she was stabbing angrily at the huge mound of "scrumptious" chicken she had piled on her plate. When Harry remarked to her that if she didn't stop soon, she'd become a serial stabber killer of rabid chickens, Blaise just glared at him from her position over her plate but otherwise ignored him.

Sneak, who had remained strangely silent from his post curled around Harry's sleeve suddenly spoke up with a vengeance. _"Oh pleasse, Blaisse isss not Harry'sss girlfriend,"_ at this point Harry grinned smugly, even though neither Blaise nor Theo could hear Sneak. _"Of coursse, that doesss not mean he doessn't like her, he lovesss her. But, of coursse, he isss too much of a wimp to assk her out! At thisss rate, they'll never get married!"_

Harry's face went from smug to horrified in the matter of milliseconds. Blaise eyed him warily. "What did he say?" she whispered so that Theo couldn't listen in.

"Nothing."

"Are you sure?" Blaise questioned suspiciously.

"Positive," Harry said, inconspicuously squirming in his seat, hoping Blaise wouldn't notice.

Fortunately for Harry, she was ceased from giving him her famous "Eye of Horus" as Harry liked to call it, by the coming of the desserts and cried out gleefully, "Ooh, look, Harry! Treacle tarts!" and excitedly started filling her plate—and stomach—with delectable chocolates and pies—and, of course, treacle tarts.

Harry smiled and shook his head at the gluttonous way his friend was acting. _'Wait, that wasn't acting—that was normal.' _Theo just looked on, smirking at the two of them; they would make a great couple in his opinion. He would point it out, but they would just deny it . . . again. Shaking his head, he joined the two people beside him in seeing who could consume the most shepherd's pie.

After a few minutes of inhaling and packing food into their mouths in order to fatten themselves up a bit more before school ended, the food disappeared from the plates to indignant cries of "Hey!" from the Weasley twins and Blaise. Headmaster Dumbledore stood up form the High Table in order to give his annual end of term speech. As soon as he stood, all of the chatter that had filled the hall since the feast had started died away.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing shortcake before you can head to your common rooms for a good night's sleep before the train leaves tomorrow. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were. . . . You have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts. . . .

"Now as I understand it, the House cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and seventy-five points; in third, Slytherin, with four hundred; Gryffindor has four hundred and forty, and Ravenclaw, four hundred and ninety."

A polite applause rang out through the Great Hall, from everywhere but the Slytherin table; however, a few Slytherins put their hands together a few times before stopping, Harry and Blaise included. They could at least be polite! (Even if they were thinking up murder plots for the Ravenclaws—wait, that was Blaise.) The Hufflepuffs wore quant smiles in appreciation for Ravenclaw winning the House cup. The Gryffindors were hooting and hollering, some even stomping their feet when the Ravenclaws came out victorious. As for the Ravenclaws, they looked quite pleased with themselves.

"Yes, yes, well done, Ravenclaw," said Dumbledore, looking amused at the Gryffindors antics. "However, recent events must be taken into account."

The whole hall was now hanging onto his words, everyone was silent, even the Gryffindors. The Ravenclaws' haughty smirks had faded a bit, and the other Houses looked hopeful.

"Ahem," Dumbledore commanded, "I still have some last minute points to dish out. Let me see. . . . Yes. . . .

"First—to Mr. Theodore Nott . . ."

Theo had his mouth opened into an 'O' shape. Blaise looked ready to recommend him to close it if he didn't want to catch flies.

". . . for the best played game of chess Hogwarts has ever seen, I award Slytherin fifty points."

Cheers erupted from the Slytherin table.

After a bit, another ringing silence was heard—well, it couldn't be heard, because it was silent, but you get the point—hopefully.

"Second—to Miss Hermione Granger and Blaise Zabini . . . for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor and Slytherin fifty points each."

Hermione had her face buried in her arms at the Gryffindor table; Harry strongly suspected she had burst into tears. Suddenly Harry heard a THUMP hit the ground. He looked at the now-empty bench seat beside him: Blaise had fainted.

"Third—to Mr. Harry Potter . . ." Dumbledore continued. The room went deadly quiet. ". . . for pure nerve and outstanding courage—and cunning—I award Slytherin house sixty points."

Harry was offended. He just had to make a comment about what _outstanding_ courage he had showed, didn't he? For a supposedly unbiased headmaster, Dumbledore sure knew how to make a Slytherin mad. However, that didn't seem to matter to many of the Slytherins, who were making deafening racket—Harry was surprised that Blaise hadn't awoken yet. For, in the end, Slytherin had won—for the eighth year in a row—by ten points, and everyone in the Great Hall knew it—well, except for Blaise. But Dumbledore wasn't finished yet, and had raised his hand for silence yet again.

"There are all kinds of courage," said Dumbledore, smiling. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to your enemies, but a great deal more to stand up to one of your friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."

Neville turned white with shock; he had never earned as much as a point for Gryffindor before. The rest of Gryffindor were screaming their heads off. The Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Slytherins all looked confused. Surely he wouldn't. . . .

"Which means," Dumbledore called over the Gryffindors' yelling, "we need a little change of decoration."

He clapped his hands. In an instant, the navy and bronze hangings became alternating scarlet and gold and emerald and silver; the huge Ravenclaw eagle vanished to be replaced with two banners, one of the Gryffindor lion and the other with the Slytherin serpent. Sneak had started chanting, "_We won, we won, we won_," over and over again under his breath. Snape and McGonagall looked hesitantly at each other before briefly shaking hands. Snape looked at Harry once as though telling him his feelings hadn't changed one jot, even with the Slytherin and Gryffindor tie—which was the first time something like that had ever happened. This didn't worry Harry, however.

Blaise opened one eye cautiously from her position on the floor. She sat up and looked around at a stunned Great Hall. Confused she looked over at Harry, who seemed to be thinking, for an explanation. When he didn't notice her, she asked him groggily, "What'd I miss?"

When Harry told her about the tie between Gryffindor and Slytherin for the House cup ceremony, Blaise looked at him like he had three heads and said the only word that came to mind.

"Damn."

**oOoOo**

"Haaarrry."

"What Blaise?"

"When are we asking again?"

"How hard can it be to remember that we are asking him as soon as we've finished breakfast?"

"Very hard."

"Oh, really?"

"Grrr. . . . _Especially_ when Draco Malfoy seems to have taken a liking to you and starts incessantly and outrageously flirting with you in front of the _entire_ common room and Parkinson's _staring_ at you like a wild hog ready to _kill_!" Blaise countered.

"That was an _amazing_ run-on sentence, Blaise," Harry quipped.

The girl gritted her teeth. "Well, do you get the picture?"

Harry tapped his chin before looking at Blaise thoughtfully. "I think so," he supposed.

"Oh, look Harry. Test scores are posted," Blaise tried to change the subject. Harry suspected that she wanted to keep from socking him in the mouth to keep him quiet.

Harry decided to play along. "Really? Wow, look, Blaise, I made all O's! Except for in Potions and History of Magic, I made E's in them."

"That's good, Harry."

What'd you make?" he asked.

"I did okay: One O and two A's. The rest are E's," Blaise answered.

Suddenly, a great growl filled the hall they were walking down. Blaise blushed, embarrassed. "Good! Now, let's get to the Great Hall! Didn't you hear my stomach?" she pouted.

"I _think_ everyone within a fifty mile radius heard your stomach, Blaise. There's really no need to ask. . . ." Harry commented.

"Well, aren't you a right little _twit_ this morning? Good riddance." And with those parting words, she stormed off in a huff, following the enticing scent of food wafting from the Great Hall.

"Wait! Blaise! I didn't mean it! I swear!" Harry yelled after her retreating form, running to catch up to her quickening pace.

Suddenly, Blaise turned around with a smile on her face to give him a bone-crushing hug. "I knew you'd come around, Harry!" she declared.

"Huh?"

"Boys, such slow-minded creatures," Blaise muttered quietly to herself. Speaking so Harry could hear her more clearly, she boasted, "I'm a great actress, aren't I?"

"Hey! You tricked me!" Harry accused.

"About time."

"What was that?" asked Harry darkly.

"Nothing. Now, let's go get something to eat!" Blaise exclaimed eagerly as her stomach grumbled yet again, pulling Harry through the double doors to the hall that seemed to be beckoning to her.

As soon as she was settled into a seat at the Slytherin table, she piled food on the plates set before before them without wasting any time at all. Grinning impishly, she started eating the array of food set out before her.

Harry's mouth hung open at his friend's antics. Sure, she had always been a bit of a pig, but he had never seen _this_ before.

"Er, Blaise?" he asked cautiously, afraid that she might choke on the bacon she was currently cramming into her mouth.

"Hmmm?" she answered, now drowning all that she had eaten so far down with a tall goblet of orange juice.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, confused.

"Eating," Blaise said, stating the obvious.

"I know that, could you be more _specific_?"

Blaise sighed in exasperation before setting down her now-empty goblet to look at him sternly, suddenly in what Harry thought of as her dramatic speech mode.

"Harry, Harry, Harry . . ." she tutted.

"What?" he replied warily.

"Harry, we are going to be leaving this wonderful castle about an hour after we're finished eating. We don't know where we're going and I want to be well-fed in case we're starved. Do you understand my reasoning now?" Blaise defined bluntly.

"Yes, yes, I do," Harry answered, immediately proceeding to stuff his face.

"So," he said just as they were finished, "where do you think Dumbledore will have us go?"

"Truthfully? No idea, whatsoever." This wasn't being truthful though. She did have a good idea, but she didn't think Harry would appreciate it if she brought _that_ subject up.

"I just hope he doesn't split us up," Harry said mournfully.

Blaise's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. She hadn't thought of that.

Just then, Dumbledore stood up from the staff table. He had an extremely serious look on his face as he started speaking. "Well, I'm sure you are all anxious to leave. The train leaves the station in an hour, so there is still time for last-minute packing. Now, if I may have a private word with Mr. Harry Potter and Miss Blaise Zabini, the rest of you are free to go."

Harry looked over at Blaise, whose eyes had again widened considerably. Strange thoughts were going through his head. What did Dumbledore want to talk to them about? _Privately_, no less. At seeing the look on Blaise's face, he wondered whether they were in trouble. He couldn't remember doing any serious pranks lately. In the back of his mind he realized vaguely that they had forgotten to do their scheduled end-of-year prank. Oh, well.

Harry was brought out of his thoughts as Dumbledore beckoned for them to follow him out of the hall.

The other students' faces showed pity. Apparently, they also had come to the conclusion that Harry and Blaise were in serious trouble. The Weasley twins gave them a thumb's up as they left the hall. Blaise looked ready to hyperventilate, and Harry thought he might not look much better.

"Uh-oh," Blaise whimpered pitifully. "He's going to expel us, I can feel it."

"Blaise, stop panicking," Harry muttered out of the corner of his mouth as he moved to follow the headmaster down the endless halls of Hogwarts.

"Stop panicking?! Stop panicking?! You're telling _me_ to stop panicking?!" Blaise whisper-shrieked hysterically. "We're going to be expelled on the last day of school and it's _all your fault_! We'll be sent back to the orphanage to live there _for good_! Or at least until we're eighteen… but I can't _wait that long_!" As she opened her mouth to rant even more, Harry cut in.

"How's it my fault?"

"I don't know yet, but I'll think of something!" Blaise hissed.

Just then, they found themselves outside of the stone gargoyle that protected the entrance to Dumbledore's office. As the said man whispered the password ("Licorice Wands"), the gargoyle hopped aside to reveal a revolving staircase. Harry and Blaise followed as Dumbledore motioned to them yet again.

As he opened the heavy mahogany door, Harry couldn't help but distantly take in the sheer originality of Dumbledore's office.

There were bookcases lining the walls, which were filled to the brim with large, heavy volumes that never seemed to give in to dust. A large desk stood proudly in the center of the room with even more volumes and small iridescent silver trinkets that were whistling and whirring.

Both gulping noticeably, Harry and Blaise sat down in the two comfortable-looking leather seats in front of the desk while Dumbledore settled into the high-backed seat behind his desk to stare at them ominously while twiddling his thumbs.

"I am afraid to say—" he began.

"We didn't do it, Professor! We're innocent!" Blaise cried.

Dumbledore gave a small smile while taking in the sight of Blaise, who looked wild and ready to burst into tears. He continued, "—that the issue of where you two are to stay for the summer remains undecided. There is a potential caretaker. . . ."

"Who?" Harry interrupted.

The headmaster sighed wearily. "Your aunt, Petunia Dursley, and her husband, Vernon."

Harry blanched at the mention of his aunt and uncle. "No," he refused.

"Hmm?" Dumbledore asked, putting an Every Flavor Bean into his mouth before blanching and taking it back out.

"No. We aren't going," Harry argued.

"See, that is where the problem comes up . . ."

"What is it?" Blaise prompted impatiently.

"She has only agreed to care for you for a fortnight, no more. Her husband and your cousin weren't very keen on the idea."

"Care! Hmph! If _that's_ what you want to call it. . . ." Harry grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dumbledore didn't appear to have heard this remark. Blaise, on the other hand, did. She immediately started giggling energetically and whispered to Harry in a hushed tone, "Let's just hope that don't make us sleep in the same bed." This made Harry crack up, even though his cheeks had shaded pink. Blaise always knew how to cheer him up.

"So therein lies the problem, there is no one to watch you for the other month and a half," Dumbledore confessed.

"What about the orphanage?" Blaise spoke up.

"That scenario is too complicated, what with all the Memory Charms that would need to be performed on everyone there."

"What about the Notts?" asked Harry, thinking of how kind—in a Slytherin way—that Theo had been to him and Blaise.

"Mr. Nott's grandmother and guardian is unable to care for three," Dumbledore explained.

"Er . . . the Granger's?" Blaise asked, getting desperate.

"Their daughter is going to stay somewhere else for most of the summer."

"Could we stay at Hogwarts?" Harry pleaded.

"Only Mr. Filch will be here. Do you honestly want to stay here with him?" questioned Dumbledore, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Harry furrowed his brows, perplexed. Where did the other teachers go?

"However," the headmaster continued, "there is one family willing to take you in, although they would like a fortnight or so to make up for lost time with their own children. So, both of you can go stay with the Dursleys' for a period of two weeks, as they have grudgingly agreed, then you may go stay with the wizarding family that is willing to take you into their care. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Blaise said.

"Agreed," Harry muttered, looking anywhere but at the kind headmaster.

"Absolutely spiffing!" Dumbledore said happily. "You are free to leave now, Mr. Potter, Miss Zabini—I'm sure you have some last minute packing to do as well. Run along!"

Harry and Blaise heaved themselves out of the comfortable leather chairs and made their way to the door. Just as Harry's hand touched the doorknob, Dumbledore called out a last farewell energetically.

"Don't worry about being a bother; Molly and Arthur can't wait!"


	2. Number Four, Privet Drive

**Chapter Two: Number Four, Privet Drive**

Blaise paced the smallest bedroom of number four, Privet Drive furtively. Both Harry and Blaise had reluctantly agreed to stay there for part of the summer. Dumbledore had wanted them to stay here for some odd reason of his. After the fortnight for which they had agreed to stay, the Molly and Arthur characters that the headmaster had told them about would come to retrieve them from prison—as Blaise had already taken to calling it—and they would spend the rest of their summer in the company of some unknown wizarding family. The prospects of the summer were not shaping up well. . . . 

The reason for Blaise's continuous pacing was because of how they had been treated so far. As Harry had completely expected, the Dursleys were not at all happy to be the summer host of a witch and a wizard, Blaise and Harry respectively, in their immaculate home at number four, Privet Drive.

As of yet, they had been roughly shoved into Vernon Dursley's company car (the brand new model of the Jaguar, which Vernon and Dudley could barely fit into at the same time) and were rudely ignored throughout the entire car ride all the way to Surrey; they were then forcefully pushed out of said Jaguar and into one of the houses on the extremely normal and boring-looking block. Finally, they had been shoved none-too-gently into the second and smallest bedroom, which had been dully equipped with a wardrobe, two rickety beds, and a desk, along with all the toys that Dudley Dursley had ever broken in his eleven-about-to-be-twelve-year-old life. Then, of course, they had been locked in and ignored (again).

The only good thing that came of this arrangement was that all of the Dursleys seemed to be frightened out of their wits of Harry and Blaise, and they had not taken their trunks away. When Harry had pointed this out to Blaise, however, her only reaction was, "What are we going to do? Homework?" and had busted out laughing at this ludicrous idea.

Blaise was _appalled_ that the Dursleys could treat anyone so hatefully. She had heard vague memoirs and recollections of Harry's, but hadn't really been able to believe that someone could _truly_ mistreat their own flesh and blood—that is, until she had seen it for herself.

However, there was _one_ Dursley that didn't mistreat them—Dudley. He had been very nice to Harry as of late, and had hit on Blaise constantly. Apparently, he wanted to get on Harry's good side so he could have Blaise. Blaise was disgusted. Harry was amazed that Dudley was even attracted to girls.

Now, as Harry sat on the small bed that was his, watching Blaise insult the Dursleys with more colorful swear words that he had ever heard from her—or anyone, now that he thought about it—before, he couldn't help but be miserable. He had vowed never to come back here again, yet here he was, at number four, Privet Drive, forlorn, depressed, and looking like a lost puppy. But then again, he had Blaise and Sneak to cheer him up.

"Don't worry, Harry," Blaise consoled, noticing his discomfort, "it's only a fortnight. Fourteen days and we'll be out of here. Molly and Arthur will come to pick us up bright and fresh on Saturday morning; we'll be out of this hellhole. Then, we get to spend the rest of the summer in their company, okay?"

"_It'll be fine, Harry! Look on the bright sside… there are plenty of juicy ratsss—wait, no there aren't. I'm thinking of ssomewhere elsse…_" Sneak muttered from Harry's bedside table.

Take back the above statement. They _tried_ to cheer him up.

"Yeah. . . ." Harry breathed mournfully.

"We'll be out of here soon, I promise."

Harry replied with another, "Yeah. . . ." It seemed to be the only thing he was able to say.

"Oi, Harry!" Blaise squealed. "I've just had a wonderful idea!"

Now _that_ sparked his interest. "What?"

"Well, you see . . . it's still vague . . . but maybe . . ." stalled Blaise.

"Spit it out already!" Harry growled. He happened to be very impatient young boy.

His—apparently insane—companion grinned menacingly. "Let's prank 'em."

**oOoOo**

Everything was finally in place. It had taken all of their time and effort for the past twelve days, but now they were ready. The trick was to execute it perfectly . . . and to get the timing right.

"Psst! Come _on_, Harry!" Blaise whispered in what she thought was a stealthy tone.

"I'm coming, I'm coming . . ."

Quietly, they made their way down the stairs, Blaise in the lead. As her foot touched the last stair, an ominous creak made its way to their ears.

"Be quiet!"

"It was the stair, you idiot!"

"Don't you go calling _me_ an idiot! _You're_ the one who stepped on the creaky stair we've known about since we had to sneak into the kitchen our first night here!"

"It's a bit different when you're carrying out a prank! In the dark, no less!"

"It was dark the first time we did it! You have no reasonable argument, Blaise."

"Well . . . I tried. You know what's odd? I can put up a reasonable argument to Malfoy, but with you I'm hopeless."

"That's because my intelligence far surpasses yours, not to mention I've known you for a little more than six years. I know how you work."

"Shame I don't know how you work."

"That's because I'm sly and cunning; a true Slytherin. You, however, deserve to be in Gryffindor. You're too clumsy to be sly."

"I do not deserve to be a Gryffindor! And I'm _not_ clumsy!"

"Yes, you do, and you _are_."

"No, I don't, and I'm _not_."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes."

"NO."

"YES."

"NO!"

The continuous snoring usually heard throughout the house at night suddenly hushed. Harry put his finger to his lips in a motion for her to be silent as he listened in upstairs. As the snores started back up, Harry nodded the affirmative for them to continue tip-toeing their way to the kitchen. Blaise sniffed in disdain. Harry just shook his head at her childish antics.

"Yuck. . . ." Blaise looked around in disgust as they entered immaculately clean kitchen. In fact, Petunia had just finished her bedtime scrub-down.

"Well," Harry sighed, "let's get to work."

**oOoOo**

The next morning, at precisely six o'clock, Harry and Blaise were woken with a scream. Apparently, Part A of their plan had just been discovered by Petunia Dursley. Blaise giggled evilly.

"Bingo."

"BOY!!!"

"Oops. . . ."

Thundering steps were heard and suddenly there was a jingle as someone fumbled with the multiple locks and barricades on the door, trying desperately to get in. When the person outside finally got them all open—which took a long time—Vernon Dursley came into the room in a ragged rage.

"Boy . . . girl . . ." he spit, loosening his work tie, "what have you done to Petunia's kitchen?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me, boy! I know you did it and I want to know how!"

"We didn't do anything. Even if we wanted to, we couldn't have. We're locked in!" Harry argued.

Of course, that didn't change anything. In truth, Harry had managed to pick every lock and move every barricade. He was a prankster, after all. Oh, yes, being in Slytherin also had its advantages. You learned to do these sorts of things to a tee. Especially when it came to lying. Harry cackled inwardly.

At his words, Vernon's face turned am alarming shade of puce; but not before channeling through all colors of red, green, and some sort of sickly yellow. A dangerous vein throbbed and popped near his right temple. Finally, he said in an effort to be calm, "Petunia doesn't want you freaks set loose in her kitchen. She will clean it herself. Your punishment is to stay in this room—without food—for a week."

Here Blaise snorted, amused. That was all they had been doing for their entire stay! Except, maybe, for the no food part. . . . She was going to have _serious_ trouble with this punishment. . . . Oh, well, they could just raid the kitchen again. No, wait! They were scheduled to leave today! Fat-boy couldn't punish them! Crap . . . they'd forgotten to tell the Dursleys when they were leaving. . . . But that was no loss to Harry and Blaise.

"And no one had better hear a peep!"

"Yes, sir," Harry said monotonously, unaware of the thoughts traveling through Blaise's head at an alarming rate. If he had been aware, he probably would have worried for sanity. . . .

"Aye, aye, cap'n!" Blaise saluted, trying and succeeding in making Vernon hate her and her freaky ways even more than he already did.

Vernon nodded, pleased at their responses, but a little bit suspicious. "Good, now, I have to head to work. Bad day to you."

"Bad day to you, too," Blaise muttered as the door closed and the locks and barricades were clicked and pushed back into place. They distinctly heard the sounds of Vernon tromping down the stairs and both of them mentally deemed to coast to be clear.

Harry looked over at her to see her looking back with a maniacal gleam in her eyes. As soon as Vernon had left near proximity, they made their way down the ivy plant that trailed its way up to the bedroom window. With eager looks on their faces, they hid behind a rose bush to witness the action.

Vernon came out of the house, still fixing his horrid business tie. Smiling like a good wife, Petunia kissed her husband on the cheek in farewell. Then they caught sight of the Jaguar. Their brand-new business car had been graffitied. It was spray painted a revolting yellow color, with vomit-green dots decorating it. (Harry and Blaise had gotten the color inspiration from the way Vernon's face seemed to cycle through the revolting colors when he got angry.) Silver pom-poms where stuck to the hubcaps of the wheels, and the windshield was painted black. A crude drawing of—an apparently mad—Vernon Dursley was where the driving seat would be, with puce patches adding humor to his pudgy cheeks. All in all, it was just enough to get him riled up again. Smirking at their success in Part B, Harry and Blaise started down the street to where they knew Dudley was headed to execute Part C.

When they arrived at the small, dilapidated park located near Wisteria Walk, they immediately spotted Dudley and his gang. Dudley, Piers, Gordon, and Malcolm seemed to be in the process of stealing an eight-year-old girl's sweet money. Blaise nodded to Harry, which was his signal to start antagonizing Dudley. It had all been rehearsed.

Harry stepped out from behind the shadows, advancing on Dudley. He tutted disappointedly. "Dudley, Dudley, Dudley. . . ."

Dudley's face whitened at the sight of Harry; he hadn't been watching to see if they had an audience. Now he was cautious. Even his gang had noticed the drastic change in his attitude—that was saying something. They were all very dumb, or maybe they just put on a good show of _being_ dumb . . . one never knew.

"Dudley, Dudley, Dudley. . . ." he repeated.

"What?" Dudley questioned.

Harry sighed in fake displeasure. Well, it wasn't all that fake; stealing was serious business, but it was fake for the reason he had intended for it. Adding to the effect, he sniffed and wiped invisible tears from his eyes. Dudley was much more stupid than Malfoy so if it worked for Malfoy, then it would work for Dudley. Hiccupping slightly, he explained, "What would your mummy think, Dudley?"

Dudley's pudgy face whitened even more—if that was possible. Grinning inwardly, Harry continued, "What would your mummy do if she could see you now?"

Now it was time for Blaise to take over, she played her part beautifully. "But what about _me_, Dudley?" she simpered, "What did you think _I_ would say to this barbaric act of cruelty?

"I loved you, Dudley, from the very moment I set my unworthy eyes on you." Blaise looked like she was about to throw up, but Dudley and his gang of baboons didn't seem to notice. "But now . . . I've seen the real you. Stealing from such a sweet young girl. What have you gained, Dudley? A few pounds at the most?

"Now that has all changed. I have discovered my love for someone else,"—Harry was _positive_ that _that_ hadn't been rehearsed—"Specifically, your cousin, Harry."

Dudley turned puce at her words. He turned an even deeper shade when Blaise leaned in toward Harry, ready to give proof of her words. She was five inches away . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . .

"Am I interrupting something?"

Blaise turned around so hard her neck cricked, angry because someone had interrupted her demonstrating her wonderful acting skills. "Who the bloody hell are you?" she asked the man, not wasting time with delicacies or proper etiquette. Harry was speechless, that girl really had some mood swings. Shaking himself mentally and physically, he took a good look at the man before him.

He was tall and lanky, going slightly bald with old age. However, what little hair he did have left was a bright, dark, red color. And . . . what was he _wearing_?

"I'm Arthur," he said, fingering the buttons of his Hawaiian style shirt while squirming in his maroon-colored corduroy slacks. And was that a _hot pink and lime green striped tie_? Did this man have _any_ color sense? Harry briefly wondered whether he almost bought a sundress with colorful floral print. It really wouldn't surprise him, although it might shock him.

"Oh, so you're Arthur. Where's Molly?" Harry asked, looking around, thinking someone might jump out from behind the swings, or maybe the seesaw. Or even the monkey bars. Who knows?

"She's at the Burrow getting things ready for you two. Speaking of which, we should get going, everyone will be worried sick if we don't turn up soon."

"Everyone?" Blaise asked unintelligently.

"Oh, didn't you know? I have seven children; only five of them will be there this summer, but we have one other guest besides you. We'll have a full house!" Arthur looked excited at this thought.

Blaise's eyes had gone wide at the mention of seven children. "Think they'll be popping any more out soon?" she whispered to Harry.

"No idea," he whispered back.

Meanwhile, behind the scenes, Dudley and his gang watched apprehensively. Dudley knew what Arthur really was, but Piers, Gordon, Dennis, and Malcolm did not, seeing as how they were eyeing the wizard strangely. Apparently, they weren't as troll-like as Harry had previously thought they were if they knew Arthur's clothes didn't match and weren't native to the area. Harry realized that he might need to do some _serious_ rethinking on his judgement of Dudley's gang. Maybe even Crabbe and Goyle while he was at it.

Now Arthur looked even more uncomfortable than he had before. He was was looking strangely at Dudley and his gang as though he wondered why such buffoons were looking at him like that. Stumbling slightly over his words, Arthur continued, "So . . . are you ready to leave? Do you have everything packed and ready to go? If you do, then we need to be heading back so Molly can fuss over you."

Blaise came out of whatever la-la-land she was in to answer him. "Everything's in the back yard. We weren't sure when you were going to arrive, so we stored them under a rose bush. Me'n Harry'll go get them. You can wait here until we get back."

Without waiting for ran answer, Blaise grabbed Harry's wrist and started power-walking back to the Dursley residence. Harry got the feeling that she wanted to talk to him about something that she did _not_ want Arthur to hear. Just as he suspected, when they were out of range of anybody who happened to be in the park, Blaise whispered, "I get the feeling that I know him from somewhere! I just don't know _where_! We don't know any adult wizards or witches—minus the teachers, of course—so it must be somebody at school. Who does he remind you of?"

"I dunno," Harry replied. "He does like familiar, but I can't place him."

Blaise growled under her breath as they neared the Dursleys' perfectly mowed lawn towards the rose bush that was sheltering their school trunks. Making sure none of the Dursleys could spot them, they each bent down and started heaving their trunks back down to the park. The trip back passed in a tense silence. If someone had read their emotions correctly, they would have said that they looked extremely nervous and distrustful. They would, of course, be right.

Arthur was in the same position they had left him in: Being watched by Dudley and his gang. It didn't look comfortable for the visitor in the least. In fact, he looked nearly ready to faint from the attention. When he spotted Harry and Blaise, his expression changed to one of gratitude that they had made it back, and, of course, hopeful that they would make Dudley and has dope-boys go somewhere far, far away. But then he took a closer look at their faces. Seeing their guarded looks, Arthur immediately became uncomfortable yet again.

Taking sympathy on him, Harry said, "We're ready to go now, Arthur." He continued, this time addressing Dudley, "Dudley, take my advice for once and leave us the bloody hell alone. Take your _friends_ with you."

When Dudley only looked at Harry in shock for speaking in such a way to him. Blaise, being none too friendly, ordered, "Leave now, and you will save all of your internal and external organs, including one _very_ important one. And if you hesitate, I will make sure that you _never_ have kids at _any_ point in the future. Now, take Harry's advice, and _shoo_!"

Dudley waddled out of the park and back down the street toward Privet Drive, looking remarkably like a penguin as he did so. Piers, Malcolm, Dennis, and Gordon went back to their respective homes, also, privately hoping never to see Blaise again. She was _scary_. Arthur just eyed Blaise reproachfully and said, "That wasn't very nice of you."

"And who cares?" Blaise argued. Her personality didn't really call for her to be polite, although she could put on a good show of acting polite. Harry wondered whether it was even in her genetic makeup to be even a bit humane to her enemies. '_Nah_,' he thought.

When Arthur continued to look disdainfully at his friend, Harry cleared his throat and said, "We're ready to go now. How are we going to get to this Burrow?"

Arthur looked startled for a moment; he had forgotten Harry was there, being so caught up in trying to make Blaise feel guilty. Giving it up as a lost cause, he replied, "We'll be taking a Portkey directly into the kitchen. We've had it expanded so we'll all fit."

"What's a Portkey?" Blaise asked curiously, wondering what other types of travel wizards used.

The man seemed to think for a bit before answering. "It is . . . a normal object charmed to take you from one place to another."

"How does it work?" questioned Harry.

This time, Arthur didn't hesitate before answering. "You simply touch the charmed object and it takes you to the destined location," he said, looking rather pleased with himself.

"It's timed, so we need to be ready to leave"—Arthur checked his wristwatch—"in about two minutes." He quickly pulled a piece of old parchment from a hidden pocket in his Hawaiian shirt and held it out to Harry and Blaise. "You need simply to touch it—a finger will do . . . there you go. . . .Yes, it's a minute off. . . . We'd better get ready. . . ."

Harry and Blaise looked incredulously over their heads at each other, wondering how odd it would look to a passing Muggle if they happened to see them clutching this piece of parchment. They might think Harry, Blaise, and Arthur were barmy. If Harry had seen this when he still thought magic didn't exist, he would have. Apparently Blaise agreed with him.

"Three . . ." muttered Arthur, still looking at his wristwatch, "two . . . one. . . ."

It happened immediately: Harry felt as though a hook just behind his navel had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. Except maybe for the fact that it didn't hurt like a hook would. His feet had left the ground and he could feel Blaise's shoulder banging into his. The three were speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling color, and if it hadn't been for the parchment—which was pulling them toward it magnetically—they would have spun in all directions. Then—

Harry's feet hit the ground. He staggered back and fell over as Blaise's small body was pushed into his. Arthur looked very windswept, but had managed to keep from keeling over. The Portkey was lazily swaying to the ground.

Blaise looked up groggily as Arthur lent her and Harry a hand up. Looking around, they noticed . . . a house. It wasn't elegant, and it wasn't very well-built. In fact, it looked as though it were held up by magic—which it probably was. But it still looked very warm and inviting.

They were facing a house that looked somewhat like it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and very crooked. Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof and a lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read: The Burrow. Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were happily pecking their way around the yard.

"It's not much, but its home," said Arthur, looking fondly at the house. "So," he continued, "I'd better get you inside so Molly can get you fed. You look like you've been starved."

Well, he wasn't far off the mark. Harry and Blaise had been forced to sneak into the kitchen at night so as to avoid starvation, and they had to keep the portions low unless the Dursleys started noticing food disappearing. The Dursleys certainly weren't about to feed them!

Arthur hurried them toward the house. As soon as they entered, they noticed some strange things. For one, they had seemed to have entered a kitchen of some sort. It was small and rather cramped, even with the Expansion Charm that Arthur had mentioned earlier. There was a scrubbed wooden table and several chairs in the middle, and Harry and Blaise stood next to the table, looking around nervously. They had never been in a wizard house before.

The clock on the wall opposite where they were standing had only one hand and no numbers at all. Written around the edges were things like _Time to make tea_, _Time to feed the chickens_, and _You're late_. Books were stacked haphazardly atop the mantelpiece with titles like _Charm Your Own Cheese_, _Enchantment in Baking_, and _One Minute Feasts—It's Magic!_ And unless Harry's ears were deceiving him, the old radio next to the sink had just announced that coming up was the "Witching Hour, with the popular singing sorceress, Celestina Warbeck." They had so much to learn about the wizarding world. . . .

"Oh, dears! You look half-dead! Here, I'll cook something up. You two sit down. Would you like a spot of tea?" a plump, kind-faced woman asked Harry and Blaise as she noticed them standing awkwardly next to the table. Blaise jumped at her sudden appearance, then, trying not to look shocked, replied, "Sure! Though I'm sure Harry wants coffee."

Harry mock-glared at her. "Tea will be just fine, thank you."

Molly looked pleased as she started making breakfast. She bustled around, frying eggs, cooking sausages, and heating toast as she hummed happily. She was through in no time—it was like she had used magic, which she probably had. She started setting the table for ten as Harry and Blaise had a silent conversation. They agreed that they liked this woman, but didn't want to get on her bad side.

Harry and Blaise dug into their plates—which were piled high with food—vigorously. The poor plates were cleared within minutes and Molly dumped on a second helping without needing to be asked.

Correction: They _really_ liked this woman.

They were just finishing their second helping and Molly was trying to get them to eat a third when a girl padded down the lopsided stairs, yawning and still in her pajamas. This girl had very bushy brown hair and brown eyes. This girl was Hermione Granger. Spotting Blaise, she squealed, "Blaise!" before running towards her and catching her up in a hug. Blaise, who didn't especially like hugs most of the time, just sat stiffly until Hermione was finished trying to break her ribcage. Then, Hermione spotted Harry and gave him the came treatment. Harry, who liked hugs just as much as Blaise if not even less, sat rigidly in his chair with a look on his face that told people in the surrounding area that he was ready to vomit.

"It is so good to you two! I was told that you were coming, but they didn't tell us when. Those people—if you can even call them that—were horrible to you both. They had the nerve to take Harry to an orphanage! It makes me wonder what they did to you this summer! I mean—"

"Okay, Hermione, you can calm down now," Blaise interrupted.

The other girl blushed and looked away before mumbling, "Sorry."

"It's alright. Just don't do it again, please," Harry stated.

Hermione gulped and bit her lip before replying, "I'll try."

"Great!"

Hermione sat down and dug into her breakfast with much less vigor than Blaise and Harry had. Of course, she hadn't been close to starving for two weeks, so she had a valid reason to take her precious time.

Suddenly, shouts were heard from upstairs. One girl whose voice was unfamiliar and two boys, whose voices sounded _very_ familiar. They could hear random words every now and then. "What the hell . . . come on, Gin-Gin . . . How'm I supposed to cheer up? . . . do anything too bad . . . painted my room pink!"

Stomps were heard coming ever closer to the landing. A fuming young girl with fiery red hair entered the kitchen; her face looked ready to match her hair, and it had come very close to its goal. Two others—boys, by the sound of their lanky, thudding steps—trailed close behind her.

"We're sorry, Gin-Gin—"

"We won't do it again—"

"Honest!"

"You can help us prank people at school if you want!"

Molly interrupted, "I think not! My daughter is not getting into your sort of mischief!"

The girl—Gin-Gin—looked at her feet, and said quietly, "Yes, Mum."

When her mother had turned her back on them to continue cleaning up the kitchen, she turned to the two boys and nodded an affirmative.

It was then that Harry looked up and realized who the two boys were. It was Fred and George Weasley—more commonly known as Gred and Forge. When Harry noticed this, he spewed the tea he had been about to take a gulp out of across the table and onto Blaise. Needless to say, she was fuming.

"Harry James Potter! You don't go spewing your saliva-covered tea all over me! This may not be the prettiest shirt in the world, but it's my favorite of the ones I do have! If you ever do that again—" Blaise stopped here in her rant when she noticed who Harry was staring at. Turning around, she blanched, and whispered, "Oh, no!"

"Gred? Forge? What the hell are you doing here?" Harry questioned frantically.

"We live here—"

"The question should properly be put to you!"

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

Blaise answered this time. "We're staying here for the rest of the summer."

Fred—or George—said, "Oh, well we need to get you acquainted with everyone. Blaise, Harry, this is Ginny, or Gin-Gin. Gin-Gin, this is Blaise Zabini and Harry Potter." He pointed to each one of them in turn.

Ginny's mouth opened in shock at their names. "You're Harry Potter and Blaise Zabini? I have heard so much about you! The Troublesome Two, right? Gred and Forge told me all about the prank you did on Professor Snape, and all about Prank War I."

Harry sighed in relief. He had a feeling she only knew about his fame. Instead, it seemed she knew about their pranks with and against Fred and George.

"Prank War I, eh?" Blaise said. "I like that name. Hope to God that there isn't a Prank War II." Then she added, "That did horrible stuff to my complexion."

Harry snorted again. "You don't care about your complexion. You rolled around in mud for that dare at the orphanage. Made Cromwell right angry, too." His eyes grew dazed as he remembered the time he had dared Blaise to go roll around in the mud if he ever got a prank in on her. Ah . . . the good ol' days. . . .

Blaise blushed as she remembered that particular dare. She had hated having to wash all of that filth off. Unable to get back at Harry with a good quality comeback, she simply looked at her hands with a pinched look on her face.

Fred, George, and Ginny watched the Troublesome Two's interaction with admiration. They had never met Slytherins that were so . . . _unSlytherinish_. The two were perfect examples of good Slytherins in Ginny's eyes, as well as Fred and George's.

A pompous-looking boy came down the stairs with a whiny look on his face just as Fred, George, and Ginny had started fixing plates of the delicious breakfast that Molly had prepared. "Mother, could you make them be quieter when they go down the stairs? I'm busy, and they are disrupting the silence." This boy was Percy, and he wasn't particularly nice to Harry and Blaise. When he noticed the duo, he asked his mother, "What are _they_ doing here?"

"They're staying here for the rest of the summer, Percy. Professor Dumbledore felt it was for the best. And no, I can't make them be quieter while going down the stairs. I've tried time and time again, and they _still_ stampede like a herd of wild elephants."

When Percy looked back at them, Blaise gave him a wolfish smile. He looked at Blaise uneasily for a moment before turning and heading back up the stairs.

"Probably going back to polish his prefect badge," Fred said.

"That's not all he's doing up there," Ginny said, cutting up her sausage into smaller bits.

"What's he doing, Gin-Gin?" asked George. While Ginny was still eating, Fred and George had put down their forks and were looking at her in anticipation.

"I can't tell you, it'll embarrass him. If it's something really serious, he'll come out and tell everybody soon," replied Ginny, taking a bite of her fritters.

George sighed unhappily and went back to consuming the food on his plate in ways you had never thought possible. Fred gave Ginny "The Look," and when he decided she wasn't going to crack under his gaze, he went back to his food as well. Hermione, who had been quiet throughout this whole conversation, was talking to Ginny under her breath and nodding every once in a while.

The six of them all looked up yet again when another male entered the room. He was dressed in maroon pajamas and a frayed dressing gown. He was still yawning and his hair looked scruffy. It seemed as if he had just gotten out of bed and was answering the call of his stomach. Either way, his appearance did not make the day any better for Harry and Blaise. This boy was Ronald Weasley.

Blaise's fork clattered loudly to her plate as she dropped it. Harry had a bite of bacon stuck in his throat from when he had tried to swallow but couldn't. Ron's eyes were still half-closed, so he couldn't see them clearly. When he finally did open his eyes, his reaction was immediate and loud.

"Hey, Weaselbee."

"_YOU!!_"


	3. Quidditch Lessons

**Chapter Three: Quidditch Lessons**

After they had gotten over the initial shock of having to live in the company of Ron Weasley for the rest of the summer, Harry and Blaise found that life at the Burrow was as different as it was possible to _be_ from life at Privet Drive, St. Margaret's, or Hogwarts. The Dursleys liked everything neat and ordered, which pretty much excluded Harry and Blaise from being something they liked; St. Margaret's was . . . well . . . a rundown orphanage, and Hogwarts was a school, so it was a rather big surprise when Harry and Blaise noticed that the Weasleys' house burst with the strange and unexpected, and _most_ of the household was content to let Harry and Blaise live there. 

Harry was ashamed to find that he screamed like a girl—in Blaise's opinion—the first time he looked in the mirror over the kitchen mantelpiece and it shouted, _"Tuck your shirt in, scruffy!" _He got his revenge when the ghoul in the attic howled and dropped pipes at the ceiling their first night at the Burrow. Blaise was so frightened she shrieked and jumped into bed with Harry while nearly ripping his arm off with her circulation-cutting grip. For Harry, the deep purple marks on his arm were worth it when Blaise came down to breakfast the next morning looking like she had gotten about thirty minutes' sleep. (She had had some _serious_ dark circles under her eyes.) But what shocked them the most was that bangs and small explosions from Fred and George's room were considered perfectly normal, even with a mum like Molly Weasley. However, Mrs. Weasley didn't know that, most of the time, Ginny was in there with them, as were Harry and Blaise.

Speaking of Molly Weasley; she seemed to find it pleasurable to fuss over the state of Harry and Blaise's socks, which were old and bobbly. She liked to try to force them to eat fifth and sixth helpings at every meal as well. Oftentimes she succeeded in getting Blaise to eat a tenth helping. Blaise really never could turn down food, and was beginning to worry about getting a bit plump. Harry secretly decided that she didn't need to worry about things like that because she had such a high metabolism, and she'd just suck it off with all the energy she used up each day. Harry seemed to be the same way.

Mr. Weasley—or Arthur—loved to ask them about Muggle inventions. One time he had asked about "ecklektrickity" which had sent Blaise into a fit of giggles and caused Harry to spew his gulp of orange juice across the table at Ron—not that he minded.

This morning, on their third day at the Burrow, Mr. Weasley was determined to ask Harry and Blaise about the purpose of a rubber duck.

Blaise had replied very enthusiastically. And suspiciously knowledgeable, when Harry had time to think about it.

"It's a bath buddy!" she exclaimed.

Harry gave her "The Look" and said, "And how would you know that, by any chance?"

Blaise smiled at him, showing all her teeth, and answered, "You mean you haven't met Mr. Squeaky? Or Mrs. Bubbles? Oh, right, you've never taken a bath with me."

Ron snorted on his mouthful of kidney pie and snickered. Fred—or was it George?—took the opportunity to inform him that he giggled like a girl. Harry could just barely hear Ginny reply, "And that's a bad thing because?"

When he had sorted out his confusion a bit, he asked Blaise, "Who are Mr. Squeaky and Mrs. Bubbles?" He could be very thick sometimes.

Blaise's jaw dropped and she exclaimed, "They're my rubber duckies!"

Harry started banging his head on the table repeatedly. He was now even _further_ convinced that he met the strangest people. He could barely hear Fred, George, and Weaselbee—ahem, Ronald—trying to stifle their guffaws in the background. They weren't succeeding very well—their faces had turned an alarming shade of violet that clashed horribly with their bright red hair. He suddenly got a mischievous look on his face. He couldn't wait to tell Theo that Blaise took baths with "rubber duckies."

Blaise, seeing his look, shook her head violently. "Oh, no, you don't. You're not telling a soul!"

Harry eyed her with a daring gleam in his eyes. "Oh, really? What are you going to do—drown me?"

"I'll do more than drown you! I'll take a rusty spoon and scoop your insides out _little by little_." As she said this, a maniacal gleam appeared in her eyes.

Harry was currently snorting into his own porridge and every now and then you could hear words forming: "Hehehe . . . rubber 'duckies' . . . reminds me . . . four-year-old . . . crazy . . . insane . . . probably imagines things . . . Ow, woman!" This last statement was exclaimed when Blaise hit him over the head with her porridge-covered spoon, making his hair look like a cat had vomited in one section. It was rather funny.

"I was joking about the 'rubber duckies,' you twerp."

The Weasleys had been watching the two carefully, wondering if they should do something to stop the argument from escalating. Apparently, there was no need to do this, as the argument had been resolved in due time. Arthur Weasley sighed, glad he didn't have to intervene. Molly Weasley was watching the two closely, but there seemed to be no need for her to yell at either of them; after all, they weren't her children. Fred and George watched them in anticipation, and it looked like they were looking for an all-out fight. Weaselbee—ahem, Ronald—was looking at them in something akin to disgust. Ginny was snorting into her plate of scrambled eggs and Percy just stuck his nose up in the air like the pompous git he was. It was a very amusing sight.

Blaise smiled cheekily—something she had learned to do very well during the years with Harry at the orphanage. Of course, more often than not, it got her in much trouble. And that was just what it did now.

Molly Weasley looked ready to blow a fuse. She was steadily turning red at the look that Zabini girl was giving her—that _smirk_ was driving her crazy. And so she voiced her opinions.

"_What do you think you're smirking at?" _she hissed angrily.

"Molly. . . ." Arthur warned her warily.

"Oh, _sh_—" Blaise began to say. Harry blocked her mild profanity with a large and rather obnoxious cough of his own. Seeing the frightened look on Blaise's face as she stared down the short, plump, angry woman in front of her, he interrupted. "Mrs. Weasley, I think you're making her rather uncomfortable."

"_Uncomfortable?_" Mrs. Weasley asked incredulously as Blaise raised her eyebrows.

"Yes," Harry continued.

Mrs. Weasley glared at him and left the room, stomping up the stairs and probably even making the house shake as she did so. The banging stopped, followed by a loud BOOM as a door slammed shut.

"Well, that just brought a whole new meaning to huff and puff and blow the house down," Blaise said nervously to the tense room.

"So . . . what are we planning on doing today?" Ginny asked perkily, trying desperately to change the subject.

This got the twins' interest and George—or was it Fred?—said, "Actually, we were planning—"

"—on playing some Quidditch—"

"—with Harry and his lady friend here—"

"Hey!" Blaise interrupted angrily. She started shaking and Harry held her back before she caused some serious injuries to the fourteen-year-old twins sitting across the table from them. However, it didn't help that he also wanted to sock them.

"They've never played a rough game of Quidditch before—"

"—and we decided to pass on the joy of it to two newbies—"

"—even though they're Slytherins—"

"—and supposedly evil—" Here Fred and George each shot a look of disgust at their brother, Weaselbee—ahem, _Ronald_.

"—and, of course, there's the fact that they'll be playing for the opposing team."

"But they're still die-hard Quidditch fans, and we feel the obligation to teach them the sport."

"Maybe, when they're famous Quidditch stars, and we're famous Quidditch stars, they'll thank us profusely for our noble work," Fred concluded, considering himself important.

Blaise's eyes lit up at the prospect of Quidditch. With a dreamy look, she said happily, "Finally! Ooh, when I try out and make it on the team, they won't know what hit them! Somebody's got to show Flint how Quidditch is played. I always said, 'Going all for the brawn and nil for the brain makes the team worthless.' And there's not a single girl on the team! Flint will be so surprised when he sees how I attack that hoop with my Quaffle. He'll be abso-bloody-lutely gobsmacked." Here Blaise ended her little speech. Even though Flint wasn't there, she looked ready to punch him. How dare he make the Slytherin team lose the Cup! To Gryffindor, no less!

"Oh, yeah? Well, wait till he sees me out there. I have an eye for gold," Harry added, feeling he should say something after Blaise's super-long speech.

"So you want to be a Chaser, Blaise? And you a Seeker, Harry?" inquired Ginny. When they nodded vigorously, she admitted, "I've always wanted to be a Chaser for my House team."

"Yeah," Blaise agreed. "Chasers rock."

"No, Seekers rock," argued Harry.

"Let's just agree that all the positions rock. If I didn't want to be Chaser so bad, I'd get out there with a Beater's bat and chuck 'em left and right," Blaise declared obsessively.

"But that's what we're here for." The Weasley twins grinned cheekily.

"But you're not on our House team," bantered Blaise.

"A good thing, too. Slytherins are still evil," _Ronald_ began. However, he never got to continue his rant.

Harry barked, "And yet you say that with two Slytherins in the room. How very foolish of you." His and Blaise's eyes lit up at the prospect of a prank. They discreetly looked over at Fred, George, and Ginny to see their eyes glowing as well. Yes! Now they just had to think up a prank for Weaselbee. That would be fun. Thoughts of spiders and locked broom closets were already running through Ginny's head. It would be so much fun!

Ginny decided to break the silence. "Yes, Ron, we know," she sneered sarcastically. "All Slytherins are just _so_ evil. Now, can we get back to the topic at hand?"

"What's the topic at hand?" Ron answered dumbly.

"Quidditch!" she shrieked, looking at him like he was crazy. "Have you been paying any attention at all?"

Ron grumbled angrily. "Not really," he muttered before resuming eating his bacon. He looked rather put out with the conversation they were having.

"So . . . back to Quidditch. If you want to go outside for the day—" Fred began.

"—and don't care that we don't have the real Quidditch supplies—"

"—just apples and small balls with Levitation Charms on them—"

"—then we'll be happy to teach you the noble sport of the wizarding world."

"But only if you want us to, of course."

Harry considered their options. Coming to a conclusion, he stated, "We already know the basics of the game thanks to _Quidditch Through the Ages_. I know how to be a Seeker, and Blaise knows how to be a Chaser,"—here Blaise nodded—"but we've never played a single game before, so we accept."

"I have a play book. I'll show you some of the formations and such, but I _would_ like to keep most of them secret, for obvious reasons," Blaise added.

"We completely understand," George consoled.

"Even though we don't really like it," admitted Fred.

Blaise gave them what Harry called her cocky grin that shouted out to the world, "I know" in a smug voice that Blaise could pull off perfectly. Well, almost perfectly, when she also looked like she wanted to laugh fit to burst at the looks on Fred and George's faces. Harry didn't know how she did it and she wasn't telling anybody.

"Well?" asked Ginny. "What are we waiting for here, Christmas? Let's get out and play some Quidditch!" And with those humble parting words, she exited the back door and walked confidently to the broom shed. Fred, George, Blaise, and Harry stumbled after her. Because she had gotten there first, Ginny passed out the collection of Cleansweep Sevens.

"Wait," George said. "First we need to explain to them about Quidditch. Fred, would you like to start?"

"Of course, dear brother. I'm sure you both already know this, but we're going to polish it up a bit. As you know, there are seven different players on a team of Quidditch."

"One Keeper, two Beaters, three Chasers, and a Seeker," Ginny interjected.

George continued, "Quite right, Ginny. Now, as I'm sure you also already know, the Keeper defends the goal hoops, and the Chasers attack the Keeper, trying to get in goals, which is what Blaise wants to do." He nodded in Blaise's direction as he said this. "The Beaters' main job is to attack the other team's Seeker, but they can also go against the Keeper, Chasers, and the other team's Beaters, which is what Gred and I do."

Fred took over from here. "But one thing our dear Forge hasn't covered yet is the Seeker. The Seeker is probably the most important player on the team." When Blaise, Ginny, and George gave him venomous looks, he defended himself. "No Seeker, no winner. When the Seeker catches the Snitch, he earns his team a hundred and fifty points and the game is ended, usually with the Seeker that caught the Snitch and his, or her, team winning the game. There are special cases, but none of that is likely to happen at Hogwarts."

"Okay," George stated. "Let's see how your flying skills are. Blaise, Harry, I want you to do laps around our back garden. Go as fast as you can. There will be things in your path, and we want you to dodge them. If both of you can dodge them well, you'll make a good Chaser and Seeker. Well, what're you two looking at? Get going!"

Without further ado, Blaise and Harry straddled the Cleansweep Sevens—not the best brand of broom, but they were still good—and took off into the air. Blaise was a bit shaky at first, but soon got the grasp of the broom she was riding and gave it a short talking to. When they were both ready, they gave each other a look that said, "_Farewell, mate_" and shot off around the back garden as fast as the old brooms could go. George had been right: there were plenty of obstacles in their path. Blaise just barely dodged a tree that suddenly loomed in front of her in her burst of speed while Harry was encountered with an apple that had been lobbed his way. (By Ginny, but he didn't need to know that.) Before either of them knew it, branches, fruit, and even the occasional garden gnome had been chucked their way. Blaise's face was red and fuming. Harry was just trying to get out of the way. Finally, Fred blew a whistle (where the bloody hell had that come from?) to call them out of the air. When they got down, huffing and windblown, and, in Blaise's case, bright red, Fred, George, and Ginny were staring at them in awe.

"What'd we do?" Harry asked, somewhat clueless.

"That was amazing!" Ginny gushed excitedly. "You should have seen yourselves! Those were the best dodges I've seen since Charlie showed us how well he could dodge!"

Blaise went pink with the praise and Harry shrugged awkwardly. He had never _really_ liked it when the attention was solely focused on him—at least Blaise was there to help him deal with it. Actually, she was preening and paying him no mind, so he just decided to go along with it. There was no harm in liking praise and attention for one day, was there? He didn't think so.

"Well, when you're all finished gaping at them for the amazing dodges they did, could you get on with teaching them?" an annoyed voice said from down on the ground, where an aggravated Hermione Granger sat in a lawn chair with a book on her lap.

"'Mione!" Ginny exclaimed. "When did you get here?"

"I've been out here, you just didn't notice me in your Quidditch-induced hive," Hermione grumbled in reply. "And don't call me 'Mione," she added as an afterthought.

"Okay, 'Mione!" Ginny cried impudently. Fred, George, and Blaise snickered in the background while Harry was just barely keeping himself from laughing out loud.

If they had all been a bit closer to the girl far down on the ground—well, not _that_ far, they couldn't go too far up in case the Muggles on Ottery St. Catchpole noticed—they would have seen her roll her eyes before putting her attention back on the large volume in her lap.

Fred sighed in fake exasperation. "Well, we should do as the lovely lady asks and get back to teaching you newbies Quidditch."

"Hey, you listen here—"

"Who are you calling—?"

"Now," George continued, "we want you up in the air—"

"Ignoring the fact that we already are—"

"Bloody idiots don't even—"

"—and we're going to give you exercises to do—"

"—to determine whether you'd make a good Seeker and Chaser."

"But first," Fred stated, "we need a Keeper. Where is Ron anyway?"

The answer came from Hermione. "He's up in his room, sulking. Would you like me to go get him?" She seemed to be very annoyed that they were twisting her arm to get her away from her—apparently interesting—book.

"Yes, please," Blaise said with a very fake smile.

Mumbling all the way into the Burrow, Hermione slammed the heavy volume shut and stomped up to Ron's room at the very top of the ramshackle house. They could hear muffled yelling and someone throwing something, hitting its designated target. When the ruckus was all over with, a very pleased Hermione and a very bruised Ron came out into the back yard; Hermione to her book, Ron to grab a broom and join the group in the air.

"Since we don't have all the players necessary to construct two makeshift Quidditch teams, we're just going to test you. We know you can dodge, and that will be great with Bludgers and other players going everywhere, so that's _very_ good," George said proudly.

"However, in Blaise's case, we need to test her shot. Range, how many times she can score, how well she is at faking. . . . And I'm going to be testing that, because I play Chaser," Ginny added.

Blaise nodded an affirmation. She could already do all of those things Ginny had mentioned well, and now all she needed to do was prove it to her.

Ginny continued. "Ron, because he plays Keeper, is going to be who you're trying to score against. He has humbly agreed to help our cause, haven't you, Ron?"

Ron mumbled something unintelligible under his breath while Ginny smiled sweetly at him. "Yes," he said, looking as if it caused him great pain to say the short three-letter word.

"Good," Ginny simpered.

Blaise casually flew over to Harry and whispered, "She's so evil. I'm glad she's not my sister."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "She's like a demon in disguise."

"Too right you are."

"Now," Fred started, cutting their little conversation short, "none of us play Seeker, or are privy to what Seekers need to do, seeing that we've never been one. . . ." He laughed weakly at his own pathetic joke, before he finished. "Now, Harry, we want you to go up in the air and catch these Levitating golf balls. I'll throw them up in the air and they'll float around a bit, giving you enough time to catch them. They'll dart around, too, like a real Snitch, and they've been painted gold, to give them a bit of flair. They'll also be hard to see, so this should be a good test for you."

"Gotcha," Harry said firmly.

"Alright then, enough chatter," George commanded.

"Let's get going!" said Fred excitedly.

And so the lessons began. Ginny took Blaise over to the Burrow's makeshift hoops, gave her an enlarged, lightweight apple, and told her to shoot. They tested her aim, range, and how many shots she could get past Ron. Her aim was dead-on, range was average, if not a bit more, for a thirteen- or fourteen-year-old that played sports quite often. Blaise managed to get nearly all of her shots past Ron. He was a good Keeper, but with Blaise's fakes, rolls, and aim, he was no match for her. Especially when she began imagining that each of the hoops was his—and occasionally Percy's—head. It worked wonders on her Chaser's skills. After they had done basic shots, George started beating a Bludger at Blaise to see how well she would do then. She managed to dodge all the makeshift Bludgers and still shot most of her goals past Ron, though it did begin to seem like there was more than one makeshift Bludger, which made her job all the harder.

Harry, however, was getting sick and tired of Fred throwing those damn golf balls at him. Every now and then he seemed to get bored with the usual, casual throws and would chuck the tiny golden ball a good fifty feet just to see if Harry could catch it in time. When he got bored with that little game, he began throwing them straight up in the air, causing Harry to have to shoot straight up to catch it. It got tiring after a while, although it _was_ fun at first.

After Ginny had shown Blaise the basic skills you needed to have to be a Chaser, she started teaching her about team operation. Most importantly, Chaser interaction. The Chasers needed to be in sync with each other, to practically share a brain. This was proved in the function of the plays Blaise had created and how it would help the team greatly if the Chasers were as one when they performed them. A Chaser always—_always_—needed to know where the other two Chasers were. It was vital to the life of the game. Peripheral vision was great for this, so Ginny explained that a good flyer never needed to have tunnel vision. It cut off what you could see and if you can't see, a Bludger or another player might be coming your way. After she had clarified this thoroughly, Ginny showed Blaise the importance of rolls, tucks, and passing to another Chaser. It seemed that—at least in Quidditch—Blaise was a fast learner. She caught on to details quickly, and if Ginny would point out a mistake to her, she would never make that mistake again.

On the other hand, golden golf balls were still being chucked at Harry from Fred. He seemed to find it particularly amusing when he would throw three or four balls at the same time—in different directions—for Harry to catch. When Fred declared himself satisfied that Harry would make a brilliant Seeker, he practically ordered him to be re-Sorted into Gryffindor. When Harry refused, Fred left to find something _more interesting _to do. Harry found that he didn't really care and settled down to watch Blaise practice with Hermione.

"Hey, Potter."

"Hey, Granger."

". . ."

"What're you reading?"

"_Mythology and Legends of Great Snakes_."

"Sounds interesting."

"It is."

"Can I see it?"

"Can't you see it from there?"

"Can I read a bit of it?"

"No."

"What crawled up your arse and died?"

Hermione sniffed in disdain before she answered. "Ron."

"What'd he do to you?"

She shifted to get a good look at him. "He made me hit him with _Mythology and Legends of Great Snakes_."

"What'd he do to make you hit him?"

"He insulted you and Blaise."

Harry's eyes darkened considerably. "What did he say about me and Blaise?" he asked, his temper flaring.

She looked unsure when she saw his eyes darken. It looked like there was a dark green, heated fire in his eyes. Her own eyes widening, she stuttered, "Um . . . well . . . it was rather . . . juvenile . . .

"Spit it out!" Harry exclaimed coldly.

"Well—he said that Blaise was a . . . a . . ." She suddenly snorted at the foolishness of it.

"He said that Blaise was a what?"

"A—a scarlet woman, for _you know_ with you."

Harry blushed a bright red that rivaled any of the Weasleys'. Then he realized what Weaselbee—ahem, _Ronald_—had called Blaise. "He called her a . . . a scarlet woman?" He could barely contain his laughter and nearly fell out of his seat.

"That's what he said his mum called them," the ever-informative Hermione stated.

They were startled out of their insane laughter when an inquisitive Blaise asked them impudently, "Is there something you two should have told me about?" while wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. Hermione went bright pink but didn't say anything.

Harry glared at Blaise and said smugly, "No, we were just busting our tails off at what Weaselbee called you."

Blaise's mouth shot open and she turned back toward the hoops to glare at Ron before flying quickly over to where Harry and Hermione were sitting.

"So . . ." she said as casually as possible when she looked ready to hit something, "What did Weaselbee say about me, eh?"

"He said you were a scarlet woman," said Harry as bluntly as was achievable.

Blaise sucked in a breath and held it in before releasing a snort of hilarity, which triggered the laughs of Harry and Hermione as well. However, Blaise was the worst. Her face was bright red with suppressed giggles that Weaselbee had called her a _scarlet woman_, of all things. Honestly, she had been called much worse than that her whole life!

Hermione sighed. "We really need to be heading inside. It's getting dark."

And indeed it was getting dark. The sky was nearly dark blue in color, which meant it had to be at least eight o'clock. They had stayed outside all day. It came as a surprise to them all, so they packed up the brooms, not waiting for Ron, who was up in the skies arguing over something with Ginny while George watched the row amiably. When Harry, Blaise, and Hermione entered the kitchen, they immediately noticed the delectable smells of beef stew and treacle tart, which seemed to be for dessert. They all slumped down at the table, helping themselves to Mrs. Weasley's homemade cooking after the woman herself gave Blaise and Harry an apologetic look before turning back to the oven. They imperceptibly nodded to her in appreciation before digging into the delicious stew. Harry barely noticed that Percy and Fred were there as well. Mr. Weasley was still conducting raids for the Ministry. Ginny had told them that he worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, and that pranks against Muggles were getting worse and worse, so he had to stay at work until late at night.

Fred smiled awkwardly at Harry as he noticed the group of three trooping into the kitchen and helping themselves. "Sorry for running off like that, but you're really good, and I guess I just got made that you won't be able to play for Gryffindor," he apologized.

"It's alright," Harry said just as awkwardly. "I completely understand." Percy sniffed pompously like the jerk he was in the background.

Ginny and Ron trooped into the kitchen, angry and disgruntled. Ginny fell into a chair beside Harry and let her head fall to the table with a loud THUMP as she groaned. George came in after them (apparently they had made him put the brooms and balls up) before noticing his twin brother and whispering conspiringly in his ear after he himself sat down.

"What's wrong, Ginny?" Harry asked, concerned.

"My prat of a brother," she grumbled.

Blaise tutted. "What'd he do this time?"

"He insulted you both to my face. He knows I like you two, and he said it"—she glared over at Ron, where he sat pigging out—"because he knew it would get to me."

Harry asked, amused, "How'd he insult us?"

"Called Blaise a scarlet woman for even being near you."

"Not very original, is he?" Blaise mentioned, unconcerned.

Ginny mock-glared at her. "He also accused us of being a threesome," she added.

Blaise choked on her bite of stew and Harry clapped her—hard—on the back. He was also surprised, but had had the sense not to take a bite right before Ginny said anything.

"A threesome, eh? Gosh, Harry, you seem to be getting a lot of undeserved attention with the nonexistent ladies," she giggled.

"That is not funny," stated Harry, but he was unable to keep his face straight. "Plus, are you calling Ginny and yourself nonexistent?"

"Fine, let me rephrase that. You seem to be getting a lot of nonexistent _action_ with the ladies."

"You have a sick mind, Blaise."

"Didn't you already know that?"

"How can you two make a joke out of something that weird and humiliating?" Ginny cut in.

"That's what we do for a living," Blaise answered.

"Except we don't get paid for it," added Harry.

"Yes, well, I hate to cut your little conversation short, but I have a question for Ginny," Fred remarked.

"Shoot."

"How did you learn to fly that well?"

Ginny blanched.

**oOoOo**

**_Authoress's Note: _**I reviewer once asked why it was that Ginny "blanched" when asked how she learned to fly so well, and the answer is this: In the fifth book, I believe, it is mentioned that Ginny used to sneak into the broom shed and fly when her brothers were away, so I came to the conclusion that her brothers never really included her in anything they did. In this story I've gone with the assumption that Ginny finally got sick of it and blackmailed them with something until they started treating her normally. 


	4. The Oompa Loompa

**Chapter Four: The Oompa Loompa**

"Someone go wake that girl up!" Mrs. Weasley bustled around the kitchen, frantically scrambling, poaching, and boiling eggs while she buttered and toasted the scones. "I swear—that girl—sleeps in all the time. She's worse than Ron ever was. . . . Harry, would you be a dear and go fetch her so she's not late for breakfast?" 

Harry sighed longingly into his mug of rich black coffee before replying. "Yes, Mrs. Weasley." Putting his mug down, he heaved himself out of his chair and tromped up the mismatched stairs to get Blaise from the room that she shared with Ginny and Hermione, who were already at breakfast. Reaching the closed door, he hesitated before knocking. It wouldn't do for him to walk in on her _dressing_, or anything. Not to mention that he would probably be scarred for life.

"Come in," the muffled voice of Blaise called through the door. As Harry opened the door, he immediately caught sight of Blaise, who was still in the bed and had sleep in her eyes. She squinted. "Harry?"

"Blaise, you have to come down. It's time for breakfast and Mrs. Weasley doesn't want you to miss it."

Blaise groaned before plopping back down on her pillow. "How much longer are we here for, again?"

Harry thought a bit before answering. "From today, about a month."

"Another month . . . here . . . with Ron Weasley? Ugh. Wait . . . a month. That would make today . . . the last day of July, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

Blaise's mouth dropped open in shock. "Harry! Don't tell me you forgot! It's your birthday!" she exclaimed happily.

"So? We've _never_ done anything for my birthday, or yours, what makes today any different?" He was very confused.

"Well . . ." Blaise seemed to be at a dreadful loss as to what she should say.

"Is an awfully deep subject," Harry finished for her.

She growled at him. "I hate it when you do that. What I mean is . . . we're twelve now, we should start celebrating our birthdays."

"I just turned twelve."

"I've been twelve."

"Stop reminding me."

"That's my duty as your friend, isn't it?"

"Listen, my birthday's two months after yours. They're not _that_ far apart."

"It's more than sixty days."

"That's not the point."

"Uh-huh."

"Sneak spends _way_ too much time around you, you know."

"Speaking of Sneak, where is that filthy garden snake?"

"He is _not_ a garden snake. He has black scales, not green ones."

"Well, he's a snake. They're not that much different. I mean, really, how different can snakes be?"

"Very different. And I don't know where he is. I think he must be out there terrorizing those lawn gnomes we saw on our second day here."

"Hmm. Well, you said breakfast is ready, and my stomach calls, so get out."

"Alright, alright, keep your tail—what the _hell_ are you wearing?"

Blaise looked down at her tee-shirt in bewilderment. Seeing it for _seemingly_ the first time, she turned pink and busted out in gales of laughter when she saw Harry's expression.

She was wearing a white shirt with a large wizard photo and proud, bold writing on it. The writing said "The Harry Potter Fan Club" in emerald lettering and the picture was one of Harry the day at Diagon Alley with Hagrid and Blaise cut out.

"Wh-what a-are you _w-wearing_?" Harry stuttered.

"Well . . . the fan club members said that, as your girlfriend, I should be a member. I refused, and they just kept bugging me and begging me and they wouldn't _shut up_ . . . so I agreed to buy a shirt."

"With whose money?"

_Oh, sh—_, Blaise mouthed soundlessly.

"I'm waiting. . . ." said Harry, tapping his foot against the hardwood floors impatiently.

"Yours," Blaise finally squeaked.

"Exactly. I want you to never sleep in that shirt again. It's just wrong; you're my best friend. I also want you to burn it, but I suppose that's too much to ask for."

"Okay," Blaise agreed, turning bright red. "Now, get out so I can change."

With one last look of contempt, Harry stalked out of the room, banging the door shut as he left. She could distinctly hear him stomping down the stairs.

"Thank you!" she said sarcastically.

She could barely hear him grunt in reply. Sighing softly, she continued getting ready for the day before she had to go down to breakfast.

**oOoOo**

"Harry, dear, is Blaise coming down soon?" Mrs. Weasley asked distractedly as she bustled around the kitchen, putting the final preparations to a wonderful-looking breakfast.

"She'll be down soon, Mrs. Weasley. She just has to get dressed," Harry answered, remembering the horrid nightshirt she had been wearing. He gratefully took a gulp of his high-caffeine coffee. He had a feeling he would need it today.

"Okay, dear. Ron, get that unattractive sleep out of your eyes. It looks like you just got out of bed!"

"I _did_ just get out of bed," Ron muttered before scrubbing the goo away.

Mrs. Weasley looked nervously toward the clock. "Ginny, dear, go feed the chickens before you eat. And remember to wash your hands afterward."

Ginny groaned, "But, Mum—"

"No buts, Ginevra Molly Weasley! Go! NOW!" she scolded.

Glaring, Ginny gave in, rather unwillingly in Harry's opinion, and said through gritted teeth, "Yes, Mum," before going outside and scattering around feed for the chickens, grumbling all the while.

"Fred, George, put that away while you're at the table," she said, turning to the troublemaking twins.

Fred put the unidentified dangerous object in his lap, effectively hiding it from his mother.

"I'm here!" Blaise exclaimed in a sing-song voice as she traipsed into the kitchen, pulling her fresh-from-the-shower dark auburn hair into a messy ponytail, trying and failing to get her clinging bangs out of her face. Sighing she fell into the chair across from Harry and gave him a nervous smile he didn't bother to return. Hermione bit her bottom lip and said mockingly to Blaise, "Oh, did he discover your sleeping arrangements?" When they both turned a bright shade of red, she answered her own question. "I'm guessing he did."

"Did what?" Fred, George, and Ginny asked evilly at the same time. Ginny was carrying an empty feed bucket and had walked in through the back door just in time to hear Hermione's last words. Fred and George had been having an intense, heated discussion—about pranks, most likely—and hadn't been paying attention to Hermione, Blaise, and Harry.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but cut off and gave a sharp "Ow!" when both Harry and Blaise discreetly kicked her under the table. She glared when they each gave her an innocent expression.

Blaise, clearing her throat, answered for her. "Nothing of great importance," she said with a small smile which turned into a sneer when she saw the disbelieving looks on their audience' faces. Harry went ahead and glared with her.

Ginny sighed, realizing they weren't going to find out what was wrong until she had Hermione alone. Blaise, sensing her thoughts, made a silent vow to never let Ginny and Hermione out of her sight at the same time. She could seem slow, but she was a true Slytherin—cunning and mischievous. Little did she know that Ginny had a plan, and not even her cunning and mischievous qualities could keep it from being initiated.

The three guests at the Weasley household didn't know Ginny very well, and therefore did not recognize the mischievous glint in her eyes that the three Weasley boys around them were quite familiar with. Fred and George were wise and didn't let any emotions show on their faces—they wanted to know what caused their two friends to blush, too. Ron, however, didn't particularly care and had a desperately eager look on his face, waiting to see his two enemies get shown up.

Mrs. Weasley was also memorable of the expression on her only daughter's face, and she feared for poor Harry and Blaise from where she stood at the sidelines, eavesdropping on their conversation. Hmm . . . there had to be something she could do to get Ginny's mind off of her planning. . . .

Stepping forward, Mrs. Weasley ushered the children out of their seats—all the while ignoring their feeble protests—and levitated their nearly empty plates to the sink with her wand, where they began to clean themselves. Maneuvering the children towards the back door, she opened it, shoving them unceremoniously outside.

"Go. Breakfast was finished long ago, and I want you all to de-gnome the garden," she commanded, using her most condemning tone.

"I don't _want_ to!"

"Why do we have to de-gnome the garden?"

"It's so _boring_!"

"You can't _make_ me, you old hag!"

Ignoring the last statement, she reprimanded them. "I can and I will, and if you don't go _now_, I'll hold back _all_ of your Hogwarts letters! You're supposed to be getting them some time today, but if—"

Their mouths closed tightly; not one of them was ready to surpass the threat of not getting their Hogwarts letters. Blaise wondered why; it was, after all, meaning that they didn't have to be reminded of going back to _school_, which was a crime in and of itself.

After one final shove, they were outside and Mrs. Weasley had closed the door behind them. Blaise glared at the offending door, as did Harry and Ginny.

"Well, what do we do now? What does it mean to de-gnome the garden?" Harry inquired.

"Well, you have to—"

"—catch the gnomes and make 'em—"

"—really dizzy."

"How do you make them dizzy? Just swing them around a bit and make sure they can't find their way back?" asked Blaise.

"Exactly," Ginny said with a smile.

"Okay . . ." Blaise muttered. Harry glanced over and gave her a small smile; he agreed with her.

"Where's Percy?" Ron asked. He didn't particularly want to spend an hour or so with people that weren't on his side of the battle between the Slytherins and Gryffindors.

"He's up in his room," George said with a sniff.

"He's spending a lot of time up there these days—"

"—writing letters, polishing his prefect badge—"

"—and there's only so many times you can polish a prefect badge," Fred finished.

"Oh," Ron murmured with a huff.

"But back to what we should be doing," Ginny ordered.

"Okay, little sis!" Fred exclaimed. "Here's what you do."

Fred searched around for a bit before bending double with his head in a peony bush. There was a violent scuffling noise, the bush shuddered, and Fred straightened back up. "This is a gnome."

"Gerroff me, you bastard!" the gnome squealed.

Well, whatever Harry or Blaise—or even Hermione—had been expecting to see, it wasn't this. The gnome was a sight for sore eyes. It was small and leathery-looking, with a large, knobby, bald head shaped like a potato. Fred held it at arm's length as it kicked at him angrily with its horny little feet; he grasped it around the ankles and turned it upside down.

"This is what you gotta do," he said, raising the gnome above his head ("Gerroff me, you bastard!") and started to swing it around like a lasso. "It doesn't hurt them—you've just got to make it so they can't find their way to the gnome-holes. It's like Blaise said."

Fred let go of the gnomes ankles and watched proudly as it landed beyond a stump about thirty feet away. "Okay, you've seen what you've got to do—get to it!"

"I'll sit this _activity_ out," Hermione huffed, entering the house so as to find a good book to read.

Harry learned quickly not to feel sorry for the gnomes; they were vicious creatures—especially if they sensed weakness. The first time he just decided to drop it over the hedge, but it sunk its teeth deep into his hand. He had a job of shaking the damn thing off until—

"Wow, Harry! That must've been sixty feet!"

Blaise, however, had no mercy. . . .

"Hey, baby. What do you say we go to my gnome-hole?" the gnome squeaked in what it thought was a sexy tone.

"AAARRRGGGHHH! Stay away from me, you filthy pervert!" Blaise screeched, swinging the "sexy" gnome away from her, where it bounced off a tree trunk and landed with a dull _thunk_ and a _crack_.

"I think you killed it, Blaise," Ginny whispered, horror and awe evident in her voice.

"Good riddance to a bad gnome, I say."

The air was soon thick with even more flying gnomes.

"See, they're not too bright," Ginny said, going after a group of three gnomes. "The moment they know the de-gnoming's going on they storm up to have a look. You'd think they'd've learned to keep their pathetic arses put."

Blaise was looking around, checking to see if any more perverted (or otherwise) gnomes were hiding in the bushes that surrounded the garden. Suddenly she eep-ed—a familiar snake with black scales was making its way towards her, hissing all the while. "Sneak, there you are! Harry, I found Sneak!"

Hearing her call, Harry came over to where she was crouched. _"Hey, Sneak, what's wrong?"_ he whispered so the others couldn't hear.

"_Harry! I don't know what it isss, but it doessn't look pretty,"_ Sneak hissed frantically.

"_Does it look like those gnomes we were just getting rid of?"_ Harry hissed back.

"_No, it isss bigger and greener, and hasss larger eyesss."_

"Blaise, what do we know that's bigger, greener, and has larger eyes than a lawn gnome?" Harry asked so his friend could understand him.

She twirled a piece of auburn hair around her finger while she thought. "An oompa loompa?" she guessed with a sense of dread.

Harry rolled his eyes. "No, not an oompa loompa. If I recall correctly we've never met one of _those_."

"Bigger, greener, larger eyes… Oh! What about a house-elf?"

"Hmm . . . that makes sense," he said distractedly.

"_Where is this thing, Sneak?"_

"_Hiding in the rosse bussh. I don't think it likesss the thornsss," _Sneak answered with a slight chuckle, pointing his tail in the direction of said rose bush.

"Come on, Blaise, let's go check it out."

"Huh? What? Are you crazy? Do you have _any_ sense of self-preservation?" Blaise questioned with a look that clearly told him _'You have _got_ to be kidding me.'_

"We're going to check it out, I'm not crazy, and yes, I do have a sense of self-preservation."

"Not much," Blaise muttered. Harry could barely hear her, but when he did, he stuck out his tongue.

They walked cautiously toward the rose bush, Blaise feeling a sense of dread. She knew that whatever it was, it probably didn't wish them well.

Harry carefully went toward the shrub, using his hands to push aside the stems, not caring about the thorns. What he saw surprised him. The creature had large, bat-like ears and bulging green eyes the size of the tennis balls Harry had used as practice Snitches. The creature had probably been watching them the entire time. He vaguely felt Blaise crouch beside him, eyeing the creature distrustfully. She didn't particularly want another magical creature to be flirting with her today.

"Er—hello," Harry said hesitantly.

"Harry Potter!" the creature squeaked in a high-pitched voice. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir. . . . Such an honor it is. . . . And who is this young lady?"

"Um, th-thank you. Er, this is my friend, Blaise Zabini. Who are you?"

The creature's eyes went wide when he said Blaise's name. Harry wondered why; the teachers at school had had the same reaction. "Dobby, sir and miss. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf," the creature said with a deep bow. Ah, so Blaise was right; he was a house-elf.

"Uh . . . this isn't really a good time," Harry said to the elf, glancing back toward the others, who were still checking for gnomes they may have missed. "Not that I'm not pleased to meet you, I am, but, er, is there any particular reason you're here?"

"Oh, yes, sir," Dobby said earnestly. "Dobby has come to tell you, sir, miss . . . it is difficult. . . . Dobby wonders where to begin."

"How about from the beginning?" Blaise said with a nervous laugh.

"Dobby heard tell that Harry Potter met the Dark Lord for a second time, just weeks ago . . . that Harry Potter escaped yet again," he said hoarsely.

Harry nodded. "Yes, but not without the help of my friends."

"Harry Potter is valiant and bold! He has braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter . . . to warn him . . . _Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts_."

There was a silence broken only by the sounds of Ginny swinging a gnome around and throwing it down a small hill, where it hit a diminutive boulder with a _thunk_.

"W-what?" Blaise hissed, furious. "He's got to go back—term starts September first. We can't stay here, and we sure as hell aren't going to the orphanage," she reasoned. "Or the Dursleys,'" she added.

"No, no, no!" she elf exclaimed squeakily, shaking his head, ears flopping. "Harry Potter and his Zabi must stay where they is safe. He is too great, too good, to lose, as is his Zabi. If Harry Potter and his Zabi go back to Hogwarts, they will be in mortal danger."

"Why?" Blaise asked suspiciously, choosing to ignore the fact that the elf had just called her _Harry's Zabi_.

"There is a plot, Blaise Zabini"—oh, much better—"A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year," whispered Dobby, suddenly trembling all over. "Dobby has known it for months, miss, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important, as is his Zabi."

"What terrible things?" Harry asked.

"Who's plotting them?" inquired Blaise.

Dobby made a funny choking noise and shook his head again. "I is not allowed to tell you!"

"Hmm . . . okay then. Is it Voldemort? The Dark Lord?" Blaise questioned. Seeing Dobby start to shake again, she added, "You can just shake or nod."

Dobby shook his head.

"Not—not _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_, miss—"

Dobby's eyes were wide and he seemed to be giving them a hint. Harry was completely lost; Blaise was suspicious.

"He hasn't got a brother, has he?"

Dobby again shook his head.

"Well, I don't know who else would be doing it. Tell you what, Dobby," Blaise said, "we'll stay here for the year, but next year we're going back—warning or no warning." She said this all with a wide-eyed innocent expression.

Dobby whimpered; he didn't seem to want to accept that, but he had no choice. "Yes, Dobby must be going back before his master gets suspicious. Don't go back to school," he said as a final warning.

"We won't," Blaise assured with a shake of her head, damp curls bouncing.

Dobby nodded before popping away.

Harry turned on his friend. "What do you mean, we're not going back?" he hissed.

"We are going back. I just told him that so he'd go away. I had a distinct feeling he wouldn't have until we agreed not to go, so I made it easier on us."

"Oh, okay. . . ." Harry said, lost in his thoughts. "What do you think he meant, not Voldemort?"

"Could it be one of his followers? I know Quirrell was one. He would have more, you'd think."

"Yeah. . . . Oi, maybe Dobby works for one of his followers, the one that's doing this, and felt that he should warn us."

"Hmm . . . maybe . . . or maybe the one that did it has a kid in Hogwarts, and they talk about you. Must say pretty good things, with the way Dobby was going on about you being 'valiant' and 'bold.'"

Harry scowled. "Yep, almost makes me sound like a bloody Gryffindor."

Blaise snorted, making her friend glare at her. "Maybe the person who was talking about us is a Gryffindor."

"Well, I guess since we are going back to school this year, we'll find out." Harry stood, holding out a hand to help pull Blaise up. She took it.

"Perhaps. . . ." she muttered as they walked back to the others, who were finishing checking for rogue lawn gnomes. "Or maybe we'll get in the middle of it and get stuck solving _another_ mystery that has to do with Voldemort."

Harry sighed. "I get the feeling we'll _never_ have a boring year at Hogwarts," he told her as they headed back inside.

"You aren't the only one," Blaise said with a rueful grin.

**oOoOo**

**_Authoress's Note:_** Extra special thank you to _SaphirePhoenix_ for help with how I should put Dobby in and for giving me an idea for what the gnome should say to Blaise. Thank you to all my reviewers for spurring me on!


	5. Nocturnally

**Chapter Five: Nocturnally**

As the entourage ambled into the ramshackle house, Mrs. Weasley met them just inside the door. "Letters from school," she stated, passing each of them identical envelopes of yellowish parchment addressed in green ink. "They came in while you were out. Percy's already got his." 

Harry looked over his letter. It told him to catch the Hogwarts Express as usual from King's Cross station on September first. There was also a list of the new books he'd need for the upcoming year.

SECOND-YEAR STUDENTS WILL REQUIRE:  
_The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ by Miranda Goshawk  
_Break with a Banshee_ by Gilderoy Lockhart  
_Gadding with Ghouls_ by Gilderoy Lockhart  
_Holidays with Hags_ by Gilderoy Lockhart  
_Travels with Trolls_ by Gilderoy Lockhart  
_Voyages with Vampires_ by Gilderoy Lockhart  
_Wanderings with Werewolves_ by Gilderoy Lockhart  
_Year with the Yeti_ by Gilderoy Lockhart

The silence that began when they started reading the letters was broken when—

"Who the hell is Gilderoy Lockhart?" Blaise asked, a puzzled, disgusted look on her face.

Mrs. Weasley looked ready to reprimand her for her language and Hermione looked ready to answer when Fred interrupted. "You mean to tell me you don't know who Gilderoy Lockhart is?"

"Yeah . . . ."

"He's only 'the best ridder of household pests there is,'" George imitated in a high-pitched voice. Mrs. Weasley glared at him.

"Mum _fancies_ him," Ginny muttered.

"Don't be ridiculous, Ginny."

"Of course you don't, Mum," Ginny whispered sarcastically so her mother couldn't hear her.

Blaise snorted.

"However," George began, "Lockhart's books can be quite expensive." He looked at his mother worriedly.

"We'll manage," she told him.

"So . . ." Harry said awkwardly, "when are we going to Diagon Alley to get our school things?"

"Well, as soon as Arthur gets back we should be heading that way."

"And that is . . . ?" Blaise questioned, trailing off towards the end.

"Tomorrow morning, bright and early."

**oOoOo**

As the next morning dawned, Harry and Blaise (along with the entire Weasley clan) could be found dressed, washed, fed, and standing impatiently in front of a large fireplace. To any passing Muggle, it would have been a sign that they were all barmy, but luckily, there were no Muggles around that could do the passing part.

"Why can't we go by Portkey, again?" Blaise whined. "Couldn't we Apparate, or go through the Leaky Cauldron? Or, oh, I don't know, the Underground?"

"There are too many of us to Apparate, and a Portkey has to be authorized by the Ministry of Magic," Percy answered, trying to sound important. "We would go through the Leaky Cauldron, but we would just have to Floo there, anyway. And what is the Underground?"

"I don't recall asking you, prick," Blaise argued.

"I don't recall you asking anybody in particular," Ron mumbled.

"And I don't recall asking for _your_ opinion, Weaselbee," Blaise shot back.

"Why do you call my Weaselbee, anyway?"

"Okay, okay, people, this is getting a little out of hand, don't you think?" cut in Harry. "Oh, and we call you Weaselbee because we can't call you Weasel; that's what Malfoy calls you."

Ron had a stumped look on his face.

Harry sighed before explaining, "We can't call you Weasel because that's what Malfoy calls you, who is also our enemy. So we added the 'bee' because of that one time when you wore that ugly yellow-and-black striped jumper."

Harry then took the opportunity to look at Ron, who was clenching his fists and whose face was bright red, clashing horribly with his hair.

Blaise took the opportunity to inform him that he looked like a giant beet.

"Okay, everyone," Mrs. Weasley said as she ushered into the room, patting her newly styled hair, "gather 'round."

"Why is she getting so dressed up?" Blaise murmured to Harry.

"No idea."

"Now," the woman continued, "we'll have to go together because we're short of Floo powder. Everyone pick a partner."

Blaise tugged Harry by his emerald-green shirt collar closer to herself, claiming him as her partner in a rather harsh way.

"Calm down!"

"Shut up, loser. You're going with me, so deal with it."

"I was going to partner with you anyway. . . ."

"Hmph."

"Well, fine."

"Now that everyone has a partner—oh, Ron, you can partner with Percy; can't you see Ginny's with Hermione?—Okay, now that everyone has a partner, get in a line. Oh, Blaise, Harry, dears, you two can go first," Mrs. Weasley ordered with a stern but maternal smile.

They looked at each other and shrugged, wordlessly agreeing to go first, even though they didn't really feel like it. Neither of them really liked Floo powder.

Blaise walked up to the flowerpot Mrs. Weasley held in her hands and got a pinch before going over to Harry, who was already in front of the fireplace. She threw it in and when flames turned emerald green and rose higher than either of them could jump, they got in, vaguely noticing that they were standing awfully close to each other. Blaise coughed and inhaled, swallowing a lot of hot ash in the process.

"D-Dia-gon Alley," she coughed.

"What did she say, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked her husband as Harry and Blaise disappeared up the chimney.

"Di-gon Alley."

"I thought so."

**oOoOo**

It was just like the first time Harry had done it. It felt like he was being sucked down a giant drain, spinning very fast. The roaring in his ears was deafening and he put his arms around Blaise by instinct, pulling her close. His breakfast was churning inside him and he felt nauseous. But then he fell hard onto cold stone, Blaise on top of him.

Harry groaned. Then he blushed.

"I'm not that heavy, am I?" Blaise asked, her voice muffled from it's position pressed into his chest.

"No, you're not. I just hate Floo powder," he answered squeakily.

"Me, too." She raised her head, blushing when she realized the position it had been in, then she realized the full implications of where she had landed, and blushed even harder. They stared at each other awkwardly for a while before Blaise looked away, casting her eyes around the room, looking for something not so . . . awkward.

"Harry . . ."

"What?"

"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."

"What do you . . . ?" Harry got up, Blaise falling off of him as he did so, and took a good look at where they were. It looked like a dimly lit wizards' shop to him, but wait . . . none of these things were likely to be on his school list. A glass case nearby held a withered hand on a cushion, a blood-stained pack of cards, and a staring glass eye. Evil-looking masks stared down from the walls, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter, and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling. Even worse, the dark, narrow street Harry could see through the dusty shop window was most definitely _not_ Diagon Alley.

"Harry . . . I think we should be getting out of here," Blaise whispered urgently, tugging on his hand.

Harry nodded in agreement, but looking toward the door, he saw something that couldn't be happening. Draco Malfoy and an older clone of him were coming toward the shop, looking very much like they were going to come in.

"Damn, Blaise, change of plans." Looking around quickly, he spotted a large, black lacquer cabinet to his left. He went toward it, pulling Blaise with him, and shot inside, pulling the doors closed, but leaving a crack so he could eavesdrop. Seconds later, a bell clanged and Malfoy stepped into the shop.

The clone seemed to be Draco's father. He had the same pale, pointed face and identical cold, grey eyes. Mr. Malfoy crossed the shop, looking lazily at the items on display, and rang a bell on the counter before turning to his son and saying, "Touch nothing, Draco."

Malfoy, who had reached for the glass eye, said, "I thought you were going to buy me a present."

"I said I would buy you and the team racing brooms," said his father, drumming his fingers on the counter. Harry and Blaise glanced at each other in the enclosed space and smirked—they had plans to be on the House team. Oh, well, less for them to buy.

"What's the good if I'm not on the House team?" said Malfoy, looking sulky and bad-tempered.

"Because if you don't get on the House team, the rest of them don't get the brooms at all."

Malfoy smirked, but then his face fell. "What about Potter? What if him and Zabini got on the House team? What will I do then?"

"You were polite to the Zabini girl at the end of the year, weren't you, Draco?" his father asked sternly.

"Of course, I was."

"Well, then, she and Potter will accept the brooms, suspecting nothing is wrong with them. You want them to be your friends, Draco. It would not be—prudent—to appear less than fond of Harry Potter and his best friend, not when most of out kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear—ah, Mr. Borgin."

A stooping man had appeared behind the counter, smoothing his greasy hair back from his face.

"Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again," Mr. Borgin said in a voice as oily as his hair. "Delighted—and young Master Malfoy, too—charmed. How may I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today, and very reasonably priced—"

"I'm not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling," said Mr. Malfoy.

"Selling?" The smile faded slightly from Mr. Borgin's face.

"You have heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more raids," Mr. Malfoy stated, taking a roll of parchment from his inside pocket and unraveling it for Mr. Borgin to read. "I have a few—ah—items at home that might embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call. . ."

Mr. Borgin had fixed a pair of pince-nez to his nose and started looking down the list.

"The Ministry wouldn't presume to trouble you, sir, surely?"

Mr. Malfoy's lip curled.

"I have not been visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows every more meddlesome. There are rumors about a new Muggle Protection Act—no doubt that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it, and as you see, a certain number of these poisons may make it _appear_—"

"I understand, sir, of course. Let me see . . ."

"Can I have _that_?" Draco interrupted, pointing at the withered hand on its cushion.

"Ah, the Hand of Glory!" Mr. Borgin exclaimed, abandoning Mr. Malfoy's list and scurrying over to Draco. "Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir."

"I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin," said Mr. Malfoy coldly, and Mr. Borgin said quickly, "No offense, sir, no offense meant—"

"Though if his grades don't pick up," said Mr. Malfoy, more coldly still, "that may indeed be all he is fit for—"

"It's not my fault," Draco retorted. "The teachers all have favorites, that Hermione Granger, and Potter's smart, if not smarter than her, even—"

"I would have thought you'd be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family and a half-blood boy who grew up with Muggles beat you in every exam," snapped Mr. Malfoy.

Blaise snorted lightly at the abashed, angry look on Draco's face.

"It's the same all over," Mr. Borgin said in his oily voice. "Wizard blood is counting for less everywhere—"

"Not with me." Mr. Malfoy's long nostrils flared.

"No, sir, nor with me, sir," Mr. Borgin said with a deep bow.

"In that case, perhaps we can return to my list," Mr. Malfoy said shortly. "I am in something of a hurry, Borgin. I have important business elsewhere today—"

The two men started to haggle. Harry and Blaise watched nervously as Draco drew nearer and nearer to their makeshift hiding place, examining the objects for sale. Draco paused to examine a long coil of hangman's rope and to read, smirking, the card propped on a magnificent necklace of opals: _Caution: Do Not Touch. Cursed—Has Claimed the Lives of Nineteen Muggle Owners to Date_.

Draco turned away and saw the cabinet right in front of him. He walked forward—he stretched out his hand for the handle—

"Done," said Mr. Malfoy at the counter. "Come, Draco—"

Harry and Blaise breathed silent sighs of relief as Draco turned away.

"Good day to you, Mr. Borgin. I'll expect you at the manor tomorrow to pick up the goods."

The moment the door had closed, Mr. Borgin dropped his oily manner.

"Good day yourself, _Mister_ Malfoy, and if the stories are true, you haven't sold me half of what's hidden in your _manor_. . . ."

Muttering darkly, Mr. Borgin disappeared into a back room. Harry and Blaise waited for a minute in case he came back, then, quietly as he could, Harry slipped out of the cabinet, helping Blaise out as he did so. They tiptoed past the glass cases and out of the shop door into the dingy alley outside.

Harry looked around. They had emerged into an alleyway that seemed to be devoted to shops dedicated to the Dark Arts. The one he had just left, Borgin and Burkes, looked to be the largest, but opposite was a nasty window display of shrunken heads that caused Blaise to grab his arm, and a cage filled with gigantic black spiders that caused her to whimper and cling to his arm more tightly. Feeling jumpy, they set off, hoping to find a way _out_ of there.

"What's Knockturn Alley supposed to mean?" asked Blaise, pointing to an old wooden street sign hanging over a shop selling poisonous candles.

"How am I supposed to know?" he whispered.

"I don't know, but I'm hoping that most of the other people here live nocturnally, like bats, you know," she said with a nervous laugh.

"Yeah . . . good point."

"Not lost, are you, my dears?" said a voice next to them, causing Blaise and Harry to jump.

"So much for everyone living nocturnally. . . ."

An aged witch stood in front of him, holding a tray of what looked horribly like whole human fingernails. She leered at him, showing mossy teeth. Harry and Blaise backed away slowly.

"We're fine, thanks," he said. "We're just—"

"HARRY! BLAISE! What d'yeh think yer doin' down there?"

"Hagrid!" Blaise cried out in relief. "We were lost—Floo powder—"

Hagrid seized them by the backs of their necks ("Eek!" Blaise exclaimed) and pulled them away from the witch, knocking the tray out of her hands. Her shrieks followed them all the way along the twisting alleyway out into bright sunlight. Harry saw a familiar, snow-white marble building in the distance—Gringotts Bank. Hagrid had steered them right into Diagon Alley.

"Yeh two are a mess!" Hagrid said gruffly, brushing soot off Harry and Blaise so forcefully he nearly knocked them into a barrel of dragon dung outside of an apothecary. "Skulkin' around Knockturn Alley, I dunno—dodgy place, Harry, Blaise—don' want no one ter see yeh down there—"

"We realized _that_," muttered Harry.

"Do the people there live nocturnally?" Blaise asked Hagrid, craning her head back to see his face.

"Wha'?"

"Nocturnally. Do they live nocturnally? Like bats, you know?"

"Where'd yeh get nocturnally from, Blaise?"

"Knockturn Alley, nocturnally."

"Huh?"

Blaise growled. "If you say Knockturn Alley really fast you say nocturnally. Why do they call it Knockturn Alley if the people there don't live nocturnally?"

"Don' know, but it's always been called tha'." Hagrid scratched his shaggy head. "Oh, well, come on, the Weasleys have been lookin' for yeh."

Harry shook his head, but then he realized something and asked, "What were you doing down there, anyway, Hagrid?"

"_I_ was lookin' for Flesh-Eatin' Slug Repellent," Hagrid growled. "They're ruinin' the school cabbages."

Harry was suspicious, but didn't say anything else as they set off down the street.

"Harry! Blaise! Over here!"

Harry and Blaise looked up to see Hermione and Ginny standing on the white flight of steps to Gringotts. They quickly ran down the street to meet them.

"What happened?" Ginny asked.

"We got lost."

"Where are the rest of them?" asked Blaise.

"Here they come righ' now," Hagrid said, pointing down the street to where Ron, Fred, George, Percy, Mr. Weasley, and Mrs. Weasley were sprinting up toward them.

"Harry, Blaise, dears," Mrs. Weasley panted. "We hoped you'd only gone one grate too far. . . . I was worried sick about you two. . . ."

"Where did you end up, anyway?" Ginny questioned.

"Knockturn Alley," said Hagrid grimly.

"_Wicked!_" Fred and George exclaimed together.

"We've never been allowed in," Ginny breathed, looking at Harry and Blaise enviously.

Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips, but took out a large clothes brush and started sweeping off the soot Hagrid hadn't managed to beat away.

"I should ruddy well think not," growled Hagrid.

By now, Blaise was irritated at the turn this conversation had taken. She impatiently started tapping her foot on the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley. Thankfully, she was in luck.

"Well, gotta be off," said Hagrid, who was having his hand wrung by Mrs. Weasley. "See yer at Hogwarts!" And he strode away, head and shoulders rising taller than anyone else in the packed street.

"So can we go to Gringotts _now_?" Blaise whined, who was now bouncing on the balls of her feet in agitation.

Mrs. Weasley sent her a warning glare, but they started off to Gringotts nonetheless. On the way there, Harry and Blaise quickly whispered to Ginny and the twins about who they had seen in Knockturn Alley.

"Did he buy anything?" George asked them.

"No," Blaise answered quietly, "he said something about selling."

"So he's worried," Ginny commented with a frown.

"Worried?"

"All the raids the Ministry is conducting . . . it won't be long before someone thinks of inspecting the Malfoys, even if Mr. Malfoy is in cahoots with the Minister," George explained.

Harry frowned, "Mr. Malfoy did say something along those lines."

"Did he say anything in particular?" Fred questioned.

"No, nothing."

**oOoOo**

Other than Mr. Weasley seeing Hermione's parents and insisting that they go to get a drink, the trip to Gringotts passed fairly quickly. The breakneck journey through the bank's underground tunnels was quite enjoyable to Harry and Blaise, but when they arrived to the Weasleys' vault, their giddiness evaporated. Inside were only a small pile of Sickles and one gold Galleon. Mrs. Weasley felt around before grabbing the lot and sweeping it into her bag.

Harry felt even worse when they reached his vault. He and Blaise tried desperately to hide the contents from view as they hastily shoved handfuls of coins into two leather bags, one for Harry and the other for Blaise. Harry made a silent vow to pay for most of Ginny's things and anything extra anyone (within reason, and excepting Weaselbee) might also want but couldn't afford.

Back outside they all separated. Percy muttered vaguely about needing a new quill while Ron mumbled some nonsense about Quidditch. Fred and George saw their friend from Hogwarts, Lee Jordan, and gave their most sincere apologies for having to leave Harry and Blaise alone. They went away with a wink. Mr. Weasley now insisted on his drink with the Grangers, and Mrs. Weasley was now staring at Harry, Blaise, Ginny, and Hermione with interest.

"Tell you what: I'll leave you four alone for most of the day on the deal that you take care of Ginny. I have business to attend to in Muggle London, and just don't have time for it. We'll meet at Flourish and Blotts in two hours to buy your schoolbooks, and not one foot down Knockturn Alley. Clear?" Mrs. Weasley glared.

"Crystal." Blaise smirked at how much fun they could have without any adult supervision.

"Good. Now I have to go"—here she gave them all a hug—"and you all behave!" With that she took off down to the other end of Diagon Alley to the entrance to Muggle London.

"Wonder why she has to go to Muggle London?" Hermione puzzled.

"Who cares?! We've got two hours on our own!" Blaise exclaimed. Harry nodded in agreement.

"First off: robes for Ginny," Harry stated in a commanding voice, practically dragging them down the street to Madam Malkin's.

"Um . . . Harry?" Ginny stuttered uncomfortably.

"Yes?"

"I can't . . . afford . . . to go to Madam Malkin's," she answered hesitantly, her face flaming. She wasn't as sensitive as Ron about money, but it still embarrassed her not to have any when all her friends could pay for every whim.

"Not to worry, Gin-Gin. Blaise and I have made an unspoken agreement to pay for you. You're our friend, and personally"—here Harry bent down to whisper in her ear—"I don't think you're going into Gryffindor. Plus, you having good robes and supplies will give the other Slytherins less reason to taunt you. See where I'm going with this?" Harry gave her a look that told her everything.

Ginny smirked. "Having to worry less about Malfoy and his idiots taunting me because of how I dress?"

"Correct."

And with that Harry led the three girls into the shop and Madam Malkin and one of her assistant's quickly got Ginny and Harry (he had grown two inches) fitted for their school robes. Harry paid and they left.

They then went to get Ginny her cauldron, potion ingredients, wand, and everything else on her list, minus the books, which they would be getting later. After a small stop to get four large strawberry-and-peanut-butter ice creams for everyone, which they slurped happily, they wandered into Quality Quidditch Supplies, and Harry and Blaise glanced at each other before getting the latest broom on the market—the Nimbus Two Thousand and One—just to show that they didn't have to depend on Malfoy. Ginny looked at the broom-cases longingly, but Hermione rolled her eyes and dragged them next door to stock up on parchment and ink. They found Fred and George in Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop, where they and Lee were buying tons of Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks. Harry and Blaise barely managed to shove half a dozen of gold coins each into their hands and eye them meaningfully before Hermione pulled them out by their collars.

It was then that Blaise spotted a shop called _Darkende's Emporium_. The building was made of cobbled bricks, painted on top magically with some sort of dark onyx layering that shone over the ripples in the stones. The show window had tables covered with black silk, displaying an array of daggers, earrings, and . . . a jeweled tiara? Blaise didn't know why, but one of the daggers appealed to her, and she knew that that was what to get Harry for his birthday.

She pulled them inside, ignoring their protests, and soon discovered that this shop sold more than various knickknacks. In fact, the knickknacks were charmed to do certain things, like warm the person it was near (or on, as the case may be), connect the person to someone farther away, or tell when one of your best friends was in trouble. This made Harry want one, and, in the end, she bought Harry the dagger in the display case.

The dagger was made of gleaming silver, polished to perfection. There were medium-sized emeralds in the hilts and a bejeweled serpent with garnet eyes below the hilt, engraved on the very blade. Also engraved on the blade were two names: Harry Potter and Blaise Zabini. Blaise got her ears pierced (which the shop also did), and put in emerald studs that were magically connected to the dagger to show when the other was in trouble. Due to the fact that Blaise couldn't see the earrings unless looking in a mirror, they were made to heat up harmlessly when the other was in trouble. They were also spelled to let them speak to each other from far away with just a simple incantation (_Sermonis_). They walked out of the shop with considerably less Galleons than they had started out with.

With most of their shopping done, they headed for Flourish and Blotts. They weren't the only ones making their way to the bookshop. As they approached, they saw a large crowd jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. The reason for this was proclaimed by a large banner stretched across the upper windows:

GILDEROY LOCKHART  
will be signing copies of his autobiography  
_MAGICAL ME  
_today 12:30 P.M. to 4:30 P.M.

"We can actually meet him!" Hermione squealed. "I mean, he's written almost the entire booklist!"

The crowd seemed to be made up mostly of witches around Mrs. Weasley's age. A harassed-looking wizard stood at the door, saying, "Calmly, please, ladies . . . Don't push, there . . . mind the books, now. . . "

Harry, Blaise, Hermione, and Ginny squeezed inside, Blaise stepping on someone's toes in the process. After much shouting from the enraged woman, they managed to escape and see a long line that wound right to the back of the shop, where Lockhart was signing his books. The new second years grabbed copies of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ and helped Ginny find the books she needed before sneaking up the line to where the rest of the Weasleys were standing with Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Mrs. Weasley seemed to be carrying an awfully suspicious Muggle bag.

"Oh, there you are, good," Mrs. Weasley sighed. She sounded breathless and kept patting her hair. "We'll be able to see him in a minute. . . ."

Blaise groaned.

Lockhart slowly came into view, seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart was wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that matched his eyes exactly; his pointed wizard's hat was set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair. Blaise and Harry were ready to vomit and doing accurate imitations of it, but Ginny, who was used to Lockhart, closed her eyes and mumbled, "Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts . . ." Hermione sighed in exasperation or admiration; nobody could tell the difference.

A short, irritable-looking man was dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash.

"Out of the way, little girl," he snarled at Blaise, moving back to get a better shot. "This is for the _Daily Prophet_—"

Blaise's mouth opened in dismay. "Don't you _dare_ to tell me what to—!" she seethed loudly.

Lockhart heard her. He looked up. He saw Blaise—and then he saw Harry. He stared. Then he leapt to his feet and positively shouted, "It _can't_ be Harry Potter?"

Harry blanched and thought, '_No . . .'_ as the crowd parted, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dived forward, seized Harry's arm (who groaned), and pulled him to the front. The crowd burst into applause. Harry glared maniacally as Lockhart shook his hand for the photographer, who was clicking away madly, wafting thick smoke over the Weasleys.

"Nice big smile, Harry," Lockhart said jovially, through his own gleaming teeth. "Together, you and I are worth the front page!"

"I'd rather not," Harry muttered so only Lockhart heard him.

The man's face fell and he finally let go of Harry's hand, who could hardly feel his fingers. He tried to sidle back over to where Blaise, Hermione, and Ginny were at, but Lockhart threw an arm around his shoulders and clamped him tightly in place.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said loudly, waving for quiet, which he got. "What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time!

"When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography—which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge. He had _no idea_ that he would shortly be getting much, much more than _Magical Me_. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing this that September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

The crowd cheered and clapped and Harry found himself being presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Staggering slightly under their weight, he managed to make his way out of the limelight to the edge of the room, where Ginny was standing next to her new school supplies.

"You have these," Harry mumbled to her, tipping the books into her cauldron. "I'll buy my own." She smiled gratefully to him.

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" a voice smirked that Harry had no trouble recognizing. He straightened up and found himself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy, who was wearing his customary sneer.

"_Famous_ Harry Potter," Malfoy taunted. "Can't even go into a _bookshop_ without making the front page."

"Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!" Ginny glared.

"Potter, I didn't think you were capable, but you've managed to get yourself a harem! First Zabini, then _Granger_, and now the Weaslette. Do you have a fascination with blood traitors and Mudbloods?"

Ginny and Hermione blushed brightly, but Blaise frowned. "And where do I fit in that category?"

Malfoy snorted in amusement. "You mean you _don't know_?"

Blaise's frown deepened, but she didn't answer, seeing the man she had "met" just today standing over the boy's shoulder, looking over something that was over their shoulder.

"Well, well, well—Arthur Weasley."

It was Mr. Malfoy. He stood with his hand now on Draco's shoulder, showing that the sneer was passed down in the genetics.

"Lucius," Mr. Weasley said shortly, nodding coldly.

"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear. All those raids . . . I hope they're paying you overtime?"

He reached into Ginny's cauldron and seemed disappointed to see a brand new copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_.

"I see they are. Such a shame that disgraces to the name of wizard are actually getting _paid_ for it now," he sneered.

Mr. Weasley flushed darker than Ginny had.

"We have a very _different_ idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, _Malfoy_," he said.

"Clearly." Mr. Malfoy's pale eyes strayed to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were watching apprehensively. "The company you keep, Weasley . . . and I thought your family could sink no lower—"

There was a thud of metal as Ginny's cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backwards into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spell-books came thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of, "Get him, Dad!" from Fred, George, and Ginny; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, "No, Arthur, no!"; Harry and Blaise yelled, "Get him, Mr. Weasley!"; the crowd stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over; "Gentlemen, please—please!" cried the assistant, and then, louder than all—

"Break it up, there, gents, break it up—"

Hagrid was wading toward them through the sea of books. In an instant he had pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley had a cut lip and Mr. Malfoy had been hit in the eye by an _Encyclopedia of Toadstools_. He was still holding Ginny's Transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice.

"Here, girl—take your book while your father can afford it—" Pulling himself out of Hagrid's grip he beckoned to Draco and swept from the shop.

"Yeh should've ignored him, Arthur," Hagrid said, almost lifting Mr. Weasley off his feet as he straightened his robes. "Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that—no Malfoy's worth listenin' ter—bad blood, that's what it is—come on now—let's get outta here."

The assistant looked as though he wanted to stop them, but he barely came up to Hagrid's waist and seemed to think better of it. They hurried up the street, the Grangers shaking with fright and Mrs. Weasley beside herself with fury.

"A _fine_ example to set for your children . . . _brawling_ in public . . . _what_ Gilderoy Lockhart must've thought—"

"He was pleased," Fred said with a grin. "Didn't you hear him as we were leaving? He was asking that bloke from the _Daily Prophet_ if he'd be able to work the fight into his report—said it was all publicity—"

"Speaking of which," Blaise asked Harry, "what do you think of Lockhart?"

"I hate the poncy git already," Harry said with a shudder.

"I can't believe Dumbledore gave him the position of Defense teacher. He's just an attention-craving git who wants all the publicity he can get his slimy hands on," a passionate Blaise added.

Harry's eyes lit up. Blaise, recognizing the look on his face, grinned. "Wanna prank 'im?"

"Oh, yeah." Harry rubbed his hands together, envisioning the things they could do with Fred, George, and Ginny's help. Hermione wouldn't really agree, as she seemed to be in love with Lockhart, but Theo might. . . .

"Harry . . ." Blaise asked uncertainly, sobering up as a thought came to mind.

"Yes, Blaise?"

"What do you think Malfoy meant when he said I fit into one of those categories?" Blaise was biting her lip; a sure sign that she hated not knowing something so important to how wizards may perceive her to be. When she thought about it, all the teachers on the staff were quite startled when they heard her name being associated with Harry's, like her parents had done something less-than-honorable. . . .

"I don't know, but I guess we'll have to find out, huh?"

Blaise realized that their group was in the Leaky Cauldron, ready to Floo back to the Burrow. Most of the others had already gone, except for the three Weasleys they liked and Hermione, who were frowning and waiting for them to go. Grabbing just a pinch, Harry and Blaise moved to the fireplace together, and right before they got in, Blaise answered.

"Yeah, I guess we will."

**oOoOo**

_**Authoress's Note:**_ Special thanks to _Curse of Immortality_, who named Darkende's Emporium. Darkende is pronounced dark-en-day, by the way.


	6. The Famous Food Fiascos

**Chapter Six: The Famous Food Fiascos**

After the rather unique trip to Diagon Alley, the summer vacation passed much too quickly and soon it was time to go back to Hogwarts. On their last evening, Mrs. Weasley conjured up a sumptuous dinner that included all of their favorites, ending with a mouthwatering treacle pudding. Fred and George rounded off the evening with a display of Filibuster Fireworks; they filled the kitchen with red and blue stars that bounced from ceiling to wall for at least half an hour. Then it was time for a last mug of hot chocolate and bed. 

It took a long while to get started the next morning. They were up at dawn, but somehow they still seemed to have a great deal to do. Mrs. Weasley dashed about in a bad mood looking for spare socks and quills; people kept colliding on the stairs, half-dressed with bits of toast in their hands; and Mr. Weasley nearly broke his neck tripping over a stray chicken as he crossed the yard carrying Ginny's trunk to the car.

Blaise (and Harry, of course) couldn't see how ten people, eight large trunks, two owls, a rat, and a snake were going to fit into one small Ford Anglia. Of course, not without the special features that Mr. Weasley had added.

"Not a word to Molly," he whispered to the two as he opened the trunk and showed them how it had been magically expanded so that the luggage could be tucked into the boot without a hassle.

When at last they were all in the car, Mrs. Weasley glanced into the back seat, where Harry, Blaise, Fred, George, Percy, and the Weaselbee were all sitting quite comfortably side by side, and said, "Muggles _do_ know more than we give them credit for, don't they?" She, Ginny, and Hermione got into the front seat, which had been stretched so that it resembled a park bench. "I mean, you'd never know it was this roomy from the outside, would you?"

Mr. Weasley started up the engine and they trundled out of the yard. They were back two minutes later because George had forgotten his box of fireworks. Five minutes after that, they skidded to a halt so Fred could run in for his broomstick. They had almost reached the highway when Ginny shrieked that she'd left her diary. By the time she had clambered back into the car, they were running very late, and tempers were running high.

Mr. Weasley glanced nervously at his watch and then at his wife.

"_No_, Arthur—"

"But Molly, dear, no one would see—this little button here is an Invisibility Booster I installed—that'd get us up in the air—then we fly above the clouds. We'd be there in ten minutes and no one would be any the wiser—"

"I said _no_, Arthur, not in broad daylight—"

They reached King's Cross at a quarter to eleven. Mr. Weasley dashed across the road to get the trolleys for their trunks and they all rushed into the station.

"Percy first," Mrs. Weasley said, looking nervously at the clock overhead, which showed they had five minutes to disappear casually through the barrier.

Percy strode forward and vanished, followed by Mr. Weasley and Fred and George.

"I'll take Ginny and you three come right after us," Mrs. Weasley told Harry, Blaise, and Hermione, grabbing Ginny's hand (who rolled her eyes) and setting off. In the blink of an eye they were gone.

"Let's go together," Hermione ordered. "One, two, three!"

And they and their trolleys ran to the barrier, wasting no time in flying past it and hurrying to the train, taking care of their trunks quickly and jumping onto the train just as the clock struck eleven and the train left the platform.

**oOoOo**

Oh, _no_! Dobby was running late! This shouldn't be happening, but his Master had ordered him to polish his seventy-five pairs of boots and make Narcissa's cookies to send to Master Draco the first day of school, and it wasn't like they knew of Dobby's mission! But Dobby had to go; he was running horribly late. . . .

Dobby burst into silent tears at King's Cross. He hadn't made it. Master Harry and his Zabi were off to Hogwarts, into the danger that he had heard his Master and his Master talking secretly of! Oh, no, no, no, no, no . . . But Dobby had to think of something else. If Dobby couldn't block their way of getting them to school, Dobby could just get them expelled! But how to do it . . . ? That was the hard part. Oh, well, Dobby would think of something, and Dobby would think of something quickly, for it would involve the train ride. . . .

**oOoOo**

"We made it!" Blaise exclaimed, huffing, as she plopped gracelessly into a bench in the nearest empty compartment, which was at the very end of the train.

"Yep, no big, bad orphanage, no having to run away, just the good, old-fashioned 'we're running late.' Isn't that lovely?" Harry said in agreement.

"Mm-hmm, but now we have to find Ginny. She'll be mad if we leave her with Ron," Hermione remembered, grinning at the ready-to-pass-out Harry and Blaise.

"Ginny! I can't believe we left her. . . . Let's go find her, and while we're at it, let's find the twins! They may have time for a bit of before-school mayhem. And Theo! We can't forget Theo!" Blaise left the compartment at a brisk pace, signs of fatigue gone, expecting Harry and Hermione to follow her.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other and shrugged before doing so.

They spent the next ten minutes opening compartment doors and waving at the occupants, and if they weren't Theo, Ginny, or the twins, they left. Simple as that. So it stands to reason that whenever they found Theo in a compartment full of Ravenclaws, they went to close the door before fully realizing who was inside.

"Theo, my good man!" Blaise exclaimed, pulling him out of the compartment by his arm (ignoring his protests) and shutting the door. "Come with us!"

"Why?!"

"Because we need you to help us find Ginny and the twins!"

"Not the twins. . . . Who the hell is Ginny?"

"Ginny Weasley," Harry answered.

"Ginny Wea—you're associating with another Weasley?" Theo cleaned out his ears incredulously.

"Don't worry," Hermione consoled him, "she's a good Weasley."

"Oh."

They continued their avid search in silence until—

"Is there even such thing as a good Weasley?"

**oOoOo**

They finally found Ginny (who was stuck in a compartment with Weaselbee, Thomas, Finnigan, and Longbottom) and pulled her along with them, to her immense relief. But Fred and George were with Lee Jordan and a few of their Gryffindor friends, and promised to see them at school, to Harry and Blaise's heartbreak and Theo's "thank God." Blaise glared at him.

They then proceeded to walk all the way back to their compartment, two new ones in tow, just in time for the food trolley.

"Would you like any sweets, dears?" the old witch asked them. Harry and Blaise shot up, Galleons in hand, and proceeded to empty the cart of Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. Hermione got some Pumpkin Pasties and shared with Ginny while Theo munched on a dozen Cherry-Flavored Licorice Wands.

Blaise moaned as the velvety chocolate hit her tongue, a burst of flavors entering her mouth. Lazily she looked at the card she got, which she dropped in surprise.

Harry looked over at her in concern. "What is it?" he asked.

"Nothing, just . . . got a surprise when I saw the card. I suppose you could call it a souvenir for last year." Blaise showed him the Dumbledore card.

Harry's mouth formed an 'O' of understanding, but he never had time to comment, for at that moment, there was a crash right outside their compartment.

Blaise and Hermione shrieked while Ginny jumped in surprise. Theo choked on his licorice wand and Harry's head swerved to the door, which had started vibrating.

When Harry said the door was vibrating, it was vibrating. The hinges were barely keeping it in place, and if it started shaking any harder the hinges would pop off.

POP! BANG! CRASH!

Well, they _did_ pop off. . . .

And . . . what the bloody hell was that in the door?

"Dobby!" Blaise shrieked. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"Zabi! What is you doing on the train? There is trouble there. Harry Potter and his Zabi mustn't go!" Dobby banged his head on the doorframe, which was all that was left. . . .

"Dobby, don't do that!" Harry ordered, pulling Dobby away from anything that may endanger him. "We have to go, you don't understand. We don't belong anywhere else, don't you see?"

Dobby's large tennis-ball-sized eyes glared at him, scandalized. "You belong away from Hogwarts! There is great danger!" Dobby stomped his feet on the ground for emphasis.

Harry sent a pleading look at Blaise, but she just shrugged.

"Dobby, we can't jump off the train. . . . We have to go."

"You may have to go, but Harry Potter and his Zabi don't have to stay. . . ." Dobby's eyes widened as a wicked idea formed. He eyed the Chocolate Frogs and the rest of the sweets, and Harry saw it.

"No, Dobby . . . you can't do that! We'll get expelled!"

"Exactly the point, Harry Potter, sir."

Harry panicked, glancing at Blaise and the other people in the compartment for ideas, but Dobby was too quick. With a snap of his fingers, the Chocolate Frogs were taken from their wrappers and sent zooming around the compartment and out of the open doorframe. The Every Flavor Beans were likewise levitated, instead sent around tapping people's heads and trying to stick themselves up nostrils. Hermione's Pumpkin Pasties were joining the Chocolate Frogs; Theo's Licorice Wands were whipping people in a rather suggestive manner, causing him to cringe. While Harry just thought Dobby had charmed theirs, he had in fact charmed every piece of candy on the train, and they all rushed out of the compartment when multiple screams were heard as girls hurried from compartments to escape the charmed Frogs, Beans, Pasties, and Wands. One girl gasped and put her hands on her hips when one of her boyfriend's Licorice Wands whipped her across her bum.

Summed up in one word: chaos.

"We're so screwed. . . ." Blaise whispered before swatting lazily at the strawberry-flavored Every Flavor Bean that was trying to go down her shirt.

**oOoOo**

"You should be ashamed of yourselves!" Snape snapped. Harry, Blaise, Hermione, Theo, and Ginny were gathered in his office. "This is a disgrace; most unfortunately, not all of you"—here Snape glared at Hermione—"are in my House, which means the decision to expel Miss Granger does not rest with me. I shall go and fetch the people who _do_ have that happy power. You will wait here."

Harry, Blaise, and Theo stared at each other, fear-stricken. They were about to be expelled, and they knew it.

"Damn, we're already about to be expelled. This must be a school record," Blaise put in.

Harry and Theo glared at her.

"Okay, then. . . ."

Ten minutes later, Snape returned, and sure enough it was Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore who accompanied him. Harry had seen Professor McGonagall angry before, but this beat all. Blaise gulped.

"Sit," she ordered. Because the Slytherins weren't sure who she was talking to, they all backed into chairs by the fireplace.

"Explain."

"It wasn't our fault!" Blaise cried. "There's this weird house-elf stalking me and Harry, telling us not to come to school. I thought I'd gotten rid of him, but he arrived when we were on the train and charmed all the candy to act like perverts! After that, he just disappeared."

"Would this house-elf have a name?"

"Dobby," Harry pitched in.

Dumbledore was looking unusually grave. He stared down his very crooked nose at them, and Blaise suddenly found herself wishing she was back on the train with all the perverted Beans.

There was a long silence.

"You will be punished, of course," Dumbledore began regally, "but none of you shall be expelled. It is much too drastic when a house-elf was the cause of it all. For this, you will each be serving three detentions with separate professors early this year. No extra punishments will be given, as the charms were easily nullified by Professor Flitwick. Now, I believe there's one last Sorting to get to."

They walked quickly to the Great Hall, where the noise of chatter and forks and knives clanging on golden plates reached their ears. Professor McGonagall went in first with the Sorting Hat, followed by Professor Dumbledore and Snape, who was livid. Harry, Blaise, Hermione, and Theo entered quietly and made their way quickly to their own House tables. Everyone in Slytherin turned and glared at the other three members.

"Now," Professor McGonagall stated. "There is one last Sorting to get to before we're done, so now . . . Ginevra Weasley!"

Ginny walked up to the Hat courageously and put it on her head. Her eyes went wide when she heard the Hat speaking to her, and then the hall waited.

And waited.

And waited.

It seemed the Hat was having trouble, and Ginny was trying desperately to get it to make a decision. Finally it seemed that she yelled at it in her head and the Hat called out:

"SLYTHERIN!"

To say that the Hall went into shock and started having seizures would be an understatement. The members of Slytherin and Gryffindor went into apoplectic shock, their eyes bugging out of their heads and even a few fainting. McGonagall herself seemed to be having trouble breathing, and Snape, who had taken a drink of his goblet around this time, was covered in what seemed to be firewhiskey.

Then Hell broke loose. Gryffindor members stood up and declared that she be re-Sorted. The twins, of course, were cheering and Hermione's hand covered her open mouth. Slytherin members, of course, were not to be outdone by anyone.

"A Weasley can't be placed in Slytherin!" exclaimed Weaselbee incredulously.

"This is preposterous!" came from Percy.

"_Go, go, Ginny! Go, go, go, Ginny!_" the twins were chanting.

On the other side of the Hall . . .

"There is no way a Slytherin will be welcomed into the noble House of Slytherin!" Malfoy yelled.

"Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Ew!" came from Parkinson.

"_Go, go, Ginny! Go, go, go, Ginny!_" Harry and Blaise chanted with the twins.

Ginny was at the front of the hall, looking as if she might cry, and Harry, Blaise, and Theo were the only people (along with the twins) who were cheering for her. Hermione still seemed to be in shock at her classmates' actions.

When Ginny's eyes landed on the three clapping Slytherins (and the two clapping Gryffindors) her tears dried and she ran over to where they were in relief.

Some random Gryffindor then realized they were still supposed to be eating and grabbed a chicken wing, throwing it at the nearest Slytherin (which happened to be Malfoy). Malfoy gasped and flung his entire goblet of pumpkin juice at a group of Gryffindor girls, who shrieked and retaliated in kind. Soon a full-fledged food fight had broken out, and the four "important" Slytherins deemed it necessary to get away from the scene of the crime.

Blaise went up to a fifth year prefect and tapped her on the shoulder. "What's the password?" she yelled over the ruckus.

"Basilisk!" the prefect answered.

"Thanks!"

Blaise went back to the other three and they snuck out of the hall, going down the stairs to the dungeons. "Time to show you our noble sleeping quarters, Gin," Harry said, leading them down the labyrinth.

"So . . ." Theo started. "Did you expect to be in Slytherin?"

"Well, after the Hat started going on and on about how ambitious and cunning I was, that I wouldn't do well in Gryffindor like my brothers and 'those before me,' I kinda figured Slytherin was the place for me, so I told it so."

"What a unique Sorting," Blaise giggled.

"Yeah, the Hat looked at me and goes 'Well, you're brave, cunning, and intelligent, but where should I put you?' It was rather annoying afterward, but awfully scary at the time," Harry added.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Blaise put in.

"The Hat didn't talk to me," Theo said, frowning.

"Must've known where to put you, then."

"Yeah, but the Hat probably considered Ravenclaw before Slytherin. You're much too studious, Theo." Blaise patted him on the shoulder.

"Am not."

"Are, too."

"Am not."

"Are, too."

"Shut up!" Harry yelled.

Blaise hissed, and she got a surprise when Sneak hissed back from his hiding place in Harry's sleeve. She looked highly affronted and began sulking.

"Here we are," Harry said, stopping at a blank stretch of wall. "Basilisk."

The wall opened to reveal their common room, no changes visible in the mass of emerald green and polished silver. Ginny looked around in awe. "Wow."

"Yeah," agreed Blaise.

"So, now we're out of the Famous Food Fiascos, can we go to bed? I'm beat," Harry exaggerated, just a bit.

"The Famous Food Fiascos?" Blaise questioned, raising an auburn eyebrow.

"Yeah, you know, the first time on the train, and now at the feast."

Blaise nodded. "Yeah, I know. Nice names."

"Nice?" Theo asked.

"Yeah, it's nice. A way to remember it."

"More like 'what the hell?'"

"Shut up, Theo, you just don't understand."

"You know what? No, I don't. You two are impossible to understand."

Ginny giggled. "They're not that hard to understand, Theo."

"Well, to me they are."

"That's just what you think. Have you actually gotten to know them?"

Theo glared at her. "Yes."

"Well, think whatever you want." Ginny sighed.

"And I think they're impossible to understand."

"Why, thank you, Theo." Harry grinned.

"We never knew you cared." Blaise continued.

They took a bow.


	7. Grapes, Cantaloupes, and Mudbloods

**Chapter Seven: Grapes, Cantaloupes, and Mudbloods**

Harry was having a lovely dream. He seemed to be in bed, where he didn't know, but the sheets were made of emerald green silk, and they were _warm_. . . . Harry grinned in his sleep, reaching around him, searching for something, and found it. A warm body, a warm, _soft_ body. He pulled the warmth closer to him, taking deep breaths of lilies and lavender. It smelled really good. He was just about to open his eyes to see who it was when he woke up abruptly. 

"Harry, wake up! Time to get dressed so we can go to class!" a sing-song voice shouted somewhere near his feet.

He groped around him, looking for his glasses, when they were handed to him. He put them on thankfully, blinking a few times before realizing he was looking at—

"Blaise! Since when did you become a morning person? Especially on the _first day of school_?" he enunciated, falling back on his sheets.

"Ever since I wanted to be, why?"

Harry glared at her.

"Okay, fine, so maybe Ginny came and woke me up 'cause she was _nervous_. I couldn't go back to sleep so I just decided to wake you up so we can go to breakfast. Now, get dressed!"

Harry groaned, but as Blaise left the dorm, he did just that. It seemed he couldn't get back to sleep either. It seemed she had already woken Theo, who was on his bed glaring at Harry.

"Hey, don't glare at me, Theo. I'm not the one that woke you up."

"Good point, sadly," Theo said as Harry went to the bathroom to take a shower.

**oOoOo**

Blaise and Ginny were waiting for them in the common room as they came, and together the quartet made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast.

"Mmm, food. . . ." Blaise sighed as they entered the hall before heading to their table and piling their plates with all breakfast foods imaginable.

To say the Slytherins didn't speak much as they filled their stomachs would be an understatement. Other than Blaise's occasional moans, nothing else was heard from the four until they got their schedules.

"Damn . . . Transfiguration with Ravenclaw first," Blaise said, eyeing hers and Harry's schedules with distaste.

Ginny looked up from her own schedule now. "I've got Defense with Gryffindor . . . and Lockhart."

"Eugh, crash and burn. How are you supposed to endure Lockhart and Gryffindors for a whole class period?" Blaise said dramatically.

"I don't know, but we have to do the same thing after lunch," Harry sighed mournfully.

"Naw, man! You have got to be—" Blaise looked at her schedule. "_No!_"

"Yes," Theo sighed theatrically.

"I hate you both."

"We know."

**oOoOo**

Professor McGonagall wasted no time on reminding the class of her rules before going straight to the theory on how to turn an animal into a goblet. They spent thirty minutes of the class taking notes and listening to McGonagall before she said, "Now, I want everyone with an animal with them to use their own, but for everyone else I have mice. Miss Li, would you mind passing these out?"

Harry grinned an evil grin and raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"I don't think mice would be such a good idea. . . ."

"Why not, Mr. Potter?"

"Well, my snake doesn't like them much past eating them." Harry held out Sneak, who happened to be in his pocket and showed him to the professor.

He got the time of his life when McGonagall shrieked like a little girl and covered her mouth with her hands. Sneak snickered, then he hissed for good measure.

"W-Why do you have a _snake_, Mr. Potter?"

"I met him at the orphanage. We've been friends ever since, haven't we, Sneak?"

Sneak hissed, _"Yes."_

"So . . . do you mind keeping the mice away from Sneak?"

"_Mice? You didn't say anything about mice! Why didn't you say anything? Now I can smell them. . . ."_

"It's okay, Sneak, I'm sure Professor McGonagall will give you one mouse."

"_Only one?"_

"Right, Professor?" Harry asked, ignoring Sneak.

"O-Of course. After the lesson."

"Great." Harry grinned.

And so the lesson began. Harry used Sneak to make his goblet (_"And what if I don't want to be a goblet? What then, eh?"_) and succeeded on the first try, except that the goblet was covered in green scales.

Blaise eyed his goblet with envy.

Harry smirked.

Theo snickered.

Blaise glared.

Harry and Theo burst out laughing.

**oOoOo**

The lesson soon ended and lunch arrived. When the bell rang, Harry and Theo grabbed their bags and sprinted from the classroom, Blaise hot on their heels. They made it to the Great Hall before her and fell into their usual seats giggling. Blaise glared at them and proceeded to ignore them.

"So, Ginny, how was Lockhart?"

Harry and Theo shut up. Blaise smirked.

"Horrible. I can't believe Dumbledore's actually letting that ponce _teach_. Just so you know, you're getting a quiz on him."

"A quiz?"

"On _him_?"

"Yeah, questions like what's his favorite color and other useless crap like that." Ginny stabbed her chicken.

"Why is it always the chicken that gets stabbed?" Theo asked curiously.

"Dunno," Harry answered.

"That's a question to ponder into the next—" Blaise started.

"Ow!" Harry exclaimed, rubbing his head.

"What is it?" Blaise asked, eyeing his head, where all she could see was messy black hair.

"Someone hit me with a grape!" Harry glared around the table and quickly spotted who it was who threw it (who was now laughing with his friends): Marcus Flint. "Oh, that's bastard's going down. . . ."

Right then another grape soared to him, and Harry caught it angrily before it hit him. Harry glared at Flint.

"Don't just glare at him, Harry. Give 'im the finger!" Blaise did just that. Luckily for her, Flint was only concentrating on Harry, who'd gone back to his lunch.

Another grape soared into the air, which Harry caught without even looking up. Harry looked at Flint and smirked, giving him the finger as Blaise suggested.

Flint glared, throwing another grape at him. Harry caught it.

Flint continued throwing grapes, which Harry continued to catch. But Harry was easily getting agitated, which got Blaise agitated.

"That is _it_!" Blaise yelled, grabbing a cantaloupe from the nearest fruit bowl and lugging it at Flint sixty miles an hour. Unluckily for him, he didn't see it, and it hit him right on his hard head, knocking him out.

Blaise dusted her hands together. "All done," she grinned.

**oOoOo**

Therefore, while Harry, Blaise, and Theo made their way to Defense, Flint's friends took him to the hospital wing. Blaise was skipping, Harry was whistling, and Theo was shaking his head at their strange antics.

"You do realize that it's Defense—with Lockhart and a bunch of Gryffindors—which we're going to, right?"

That sobered them right up. . . .

"Theo, why'd you have to tell us something so depressing?" Blaise exclaimed dramatically, her hand on her heart.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe to stop you from acting like Hufflepuffs?"

Harry and Blaise gasped.

"You can't be serious!"

"_Hufflepuffs?"_

"I'm serious, and I won't be caught dead with Hufflepuffs," Theo answered.

Two passing Hufflepuff girls glared at him. Theo ignored them.

"Well, aren't you a nice chap?" Harry asked him sarcastically.

"I like to think so."

**oOoOo**

When the whole class had been seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville Longbottom's copy of _Travels with Trolls_, and held it up to show his own winking portrait on the front.

"Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well. "Gilderoy Lockhart—Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most-Charming-Smile Award—but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by _smiling_ at her!"

Blaise snored dramatically.

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books—well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about—just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in—"

When he handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, "You have thirty minutes—start—_now_!"

Harry looked down at his paper and read:

_1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?_

_2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?_

_3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?_

On and on it went, over three sides of parchment, right down to:

_54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?_

Harry looked over at Blaise and mouthed, "You have got to be kidding me."

Blaise shrugged. "I'm not doing it."

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.

"Tut, tut—hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in Year with the Yeti. And a few of you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully—I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples—though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey!"

He gave them all another roguish wink. Blaise's mouth was open and an expression of shock on her face; Theo was green in the face; two Gryffindors in the front named Finnigan and Thomas were shaking in silent laughter; Hermione sighed and fanned herself.

". . . but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions—good girl! In fact, full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Hermione raised a trembling hand.

"Excellent!" beamed Lockhart. "Quite excellent! Ten points for Gryffindor! And so—to business—"

He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it.

"Now—be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizard-kind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm."

The three of them all leaned around their piles of books to get a better look at the cage. Lockhart placed a hand on the cover. Finnigan and Thomas had stopped laughing now. Longbottom was cowering in his front row seat.

"I must ask you not to scream," said Lockhart in a low voice. "It might provoke them."

As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover.

"Yes, _freshly caught Cornish pixies_."

It seemed Malfoy couldn't control himself. He let out a burst of laughter that even Lockhart couldn't mistake for a scream of terror.

"Yes?" He smiled at Malfoy.

"Well, they're not—they're not very—_dangerous_, are they?" Malfoy choked.

"Don't be so sure!" said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Malfoy. "Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!"

The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

"Put your books in your bags, Harry, Theo, just trust me on this," Blaise whispered out of the side of her mouth, quietly sliding her books back into her bag. Harry and Theo followed her lead, catching the serious notes to her urgent voice.

"Right, then," Lockhart said loudly. "Let's see what you make of them!" And he opened the cage.

Before they could say anything, Blaise had grabbed their sleeves (and they had grabbed their bags) and they pelted from the classroom as fast as they could, barely noting the pandemonium inside. Lockhart would never notice they were gone.

"Thanks, Blaise," Harry panted.

"No problem."

They continued walking down the halls, checking for teachers occasionally as they went. They were aimlessly walking, no destination in mind, so it came as a surprise when they ran into Flint. On his way back from the hospital wing, no doubt.

"Zabini, was it you that threw that cantaloupe?"

"Yes, and proud of it."

"You should be. Potter, Zabini, you're on the Quidditch team. You're Seeker, Potter. Zabini, you're Chaser. I want you the team meeting as members to meet and get acquainted with the other players." Flint grinned. "Thanks for trying out."

"You're welcome!" Blaise shouted as he walked away.

"Four o'clock at the Quidditch Pitch!" Flint called behind him as he rushed off.

"Wow," Theo said, blinking slowly.

"Come on, Harry! Let's go get our brooms so we can meet 'em at the pitch!"

**oOoOo**

Harry and Blaise headed out to the pitch to find that the only person that had beaten them there was Flint, who was shooting goals.

"Hey, Captain!" Blaise shouted, soaring into the air.

Flint grunted.

Harry and Blaise joined him, taking a few practice laps around the pitch. Blaise flew over to practice a bit with Flint while Harry hunted down the Snitch so he could practice. It didn't take long before the whole team was out and Flint did a number count before blowing a whistle, signaling for them to go back to the ground.

"Okay, everyone," Flint started. "We're going to begin by telling everyone our names. I'll call out your position and you answer. I'm Captain and Chaser, Marcus Flint. On pitch you call me Captain. Off pitch: Marcus will work. Seeker!"

"Harry Potter," Harry answered.

"Chasers!"

"Adrian Pucey."

"Blaise Zabini."

"And me," Flint added with a grin.

"Beaters!"

"Kyle Derrick."

"Mitch Bole."

"Keeper!"

"Draco Malfoy."

Harry and Blaise turned, not having seen Malfoy there as well. That came as a bit of a surprise, but hopefully he was good.

"Now that you know your teammates, I want you all to know something: there is to be no fighting between team members _whatsoever_. Which means Potter and Malfoy will have to come to some sort of truce. Zabini as well."

Malfoy's eyes widened, as did Harry's and Blaise's.

"Fine, Malfoy, we agree to a truce," Blaise answered. "We can continue hating you and you can continue hating us, but we'll agree to ignore each other for purposes other than Quidditch. Deal?"

"Deal," Malfoy agreed reluctantly.

"Good, now that that's taken care of, let's get to the important business. Chasers are to meet me after practice for copies of plays and their positions. Each member has a different color: here's a list I made." Flint passed out copies to each of the players.

Harry looked at his list. It read:

1. Seeker – Potter – Green

2. Chaser – Flint – Black

3. Chaser – Pucey – Blue

4. Chaser – Zabini – Purple

5. Beater – Derrick – Brown

6. Beater – Bole – Grey

7. Keeper – Malfoy – Red

"Do me a favor and actually _learn_ your color, even if you don't learn everyone else's. I want a good team this year, and you have to know your position in our plays."

"Question: why am I purple?" Blaise asked.

Flint shrugged. "Black, blue, and purple match, I suppose."

Blaise glared at him.

"Fine! You're the only girl on the team and I was running out of colors."

"Oh. . . ."

There was a short hush and Flint had just opened his mouth to add sound to the silence when Malfoy butted in quickly, "My father has a gift for the team."

Flint gaped for a moment before asking, "And that is . . . what?"

"Nimbus Two Thousand and One's for everyone. But since Potter and Zabini already have one, they'll be fine." The second sentence was said with a glance at the brooms Harry and Blaise were holding.

Flint's eyes lit up. "Really?" When Malfoy nodded, his eyes brightened even more. "Yes. . . ."

"Now, before we go, one last thing: _If_ it is possible, I would like to keep it a secret that Potter's our Seeker. Everyone knows it's in the Potter gene to be the best, and we don't want the school knowing that. In fact, we don't want our fellow Slytherins knowing that. You can tell your friends, Potter, they're sure to find out you're coming to practices, but if it's possible, I want to keep you, our secret weapon, just that—a secret. Everyone got that?"

A chorus of "Yes, Captain," was heard.

"Good, then everyone can go finish up on their homework now. We've got practice all day Saturday, starting bright and early."

**oOoOo**

"Greenhouse three today, chaps!" Professor Sprout told the second year Slytherins and Ravenclaws happily. "We'll be repotting Mandrakes today. Now, who can tell me the properties of the Mandrake? Miss Brocklehurst?"

"Mandrake, or Mandragora, is a powerful restorative. It is used to return people who have been transfigured or cursed to their original state."

"Excellent. Ten points to Ravenclaw. The Mandrake forms an essential part of most antidotes. It is also, however, dangerous. Who can tell me why? Mr. Potter?"

"The Mandrake's cry is fatal to anyone who hears it."

"Correct. Ten points to Slytherin."

Blaise grinned at Harry.

"Now, the Mandrakes we have here are still very young."

She pointed to a row of deep trays as she spoke, and everyone shuffled forward for a better look. A hundred of so tufty little plants, purplish green in color, were growing there in rows. They looked quite ugly.

"Everyone take a pair of earmuffs," said Professor Sprout.

There was a scramble as everyone tried to seize a pair that wasn't pink and fluffy.

"When I tell you to put them on, make sure your ears are _completely_ covered. When it is safe to remove them, I will give you the thumbs-up. Right—earmuffs _on_."

Harry snapped the earmuffs over his ears. They shut out sound completely. Professor Sprout put the pink, fluffy pair over her own ears, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grasped one of the tufty plants firmly, and pulled hard.

Harry let out a gasp of surprise that no one could hear.

Instead of roots, a small, muddy, and extremely ugly baby popped out of the earth. The leaves were growing right out of his head. He had pale green, mottled skin, and was clearly bawling at the top of his lungs.

Professor Sprout took a large plant pot from under the table and plunged the Mandrake into it, burying him in dark, damp compost until only the tufted leaves were visible. Professor Sprout dusted off her hands, gave them all the thumbs-up, and removed her own earmuffs.

"As our Mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries won't kill you yet," she said calmly. "However, they will knock you out for several hours, and as I'm sure none of you want to miss your other classes, make sure your earmuffs are securely in place while you work. I will attract your attention when it is time to pack up.

"Four to a tray—there is a large supply of pots here—compost in the sacks over there—and be careful of the Venemous Tentacula, it's teething."

Harry, Blaise, and Theo were joined at their tray by a pretty brunette Ravenclaw girl Harry knew he had seen before.

"Mandy Brocklehurst," she said shyly, smiling at them. "Do you mind if I work with you?"

"Not at all," Harry said. "I'm Harry Potter, this is Blaise Zabini, that's and Theodore Nott."

"Hello," Mandy said quietly.

"So, where are you from?" Blaise asked.

"Staffordshire. I'm Muggleborn, so my parents weren't expecting the letter."

"Ah, I'm originally from Surrey, but me'n Blaise hail from London," Harry said.

"Bristol," Theodore added.

After that they didn't have much chance to talk. Their earmuffs were back on and they needed to concentrate on the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made it look extremely easy, but it wasn't. The Mandrakes didn't like coming out of the earth, but didn't seem to want to go back into it, either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth; Blaise spent ten whole minutes trying to squash a particularly fat one into a pot.

By the end of the class, they were all sweaty, aching, and covered in earth. Everyone traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash.

"It was nice meeting you!" Mandy called as she parted ways with Harry, Blaise, and Theo on her way to Ravenclaw tower.

"You, too!" Blaise called.

After their wash they traveled to Theoretical Astronomy with the Hufflepuffs. Since they were doing a review of last year, it didn't require much thinking, unless you were Blaise. They then went to lunch and were free for the day.

**oOoOo**

"Wake up, Harry, c'mon! It's time for Quidditch practice and Flint won't stop blowing that damn whistle of his!"

"I'm up, Blaise, go away!"

Harry hurried into his robes, grabbed his broom, and thundered down the stairs, where he could hear Flint blowing his "damn whistle."

"Okay, is everyone here? There's Bole, okay, now come on! To the Quidditch pitch!"

They walked to the Quidditch pitch in silence, glaring at the few passersby.

"Now, when we reach the pitch, everyone swagger. We're about to make fools out of the Gryffindors."

"Flint!" Wood bellowed. "This is our practice time! We got up specially! You can clear off now!"

"Plenty of room for all of us, Wood."

"But I booked the field! I booked it!"

"Ah," said Flint. "But I've got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. '_I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker, Chaser, and Keeper._'"

"You've got three new players? Where?"

Harry, Blaise, and Malfoy came to the front, smirking at the horror on Wood's face when he saw them.

"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" said Fred.

"Funny you should mention Draco's father," said Flint as the whole Slytherin team smiled more broadly. "Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team."

All seven held out their broomsticks. Highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of find gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleamed under the Gryffindors' noses in the early morning sun. Then Blaise decided to speak up.

"Except for our brooms, of course," she said, pointing to herself and Harry. "Ours were donated by Harry Potter."

"Very latest model. Only came out last month," said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. "So, where's your Seeker?"

A tall third-year boy came to the front. "Cormac McLaggan," he introduced himself.

But Flint wasn't paying much attention to him. "Oh, look, a field invasion."

Weaselbee and Hermione were crossing the grass to see what was going on.

"What's happening?" Ron asked his brothers.

"Why, I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weaselbee," Harry said smugly. "And Blaise is the new Chaser. Malfoy, of course, is the new Keeper."

"Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team," Malfoy added. "They love them, don't you?"

Ron gaped, open-mouthed.

"Good, aren't they?" said Malfoy smoothly. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them.

Harry and Blaise stiffened, but the others howled with laughter.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to _buy_ their way in," said Hermione sharply. "_They_ got in on pure talent."

The smug look on Malfoy's face flickered.

"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood," he spat.

Harry and Blaise knew at once that Malfoy had said something really bad because there was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy to stop Fred and George from jumping on him, Spinnet shrieked, _"How dare you!"_, and Weaselbee plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling, "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" and pointed it furiously under Flint's arm at Malfoy's face.

Unfortunately for Weaselbee, he had his wand pointed in the wrong direction again, and instead of a jet of orange light heading towards Malfoy, it headed towards Weaselbee, either which would've been fun to watch for Harry and Blaise. They dug into their proverbial popcorn and set back to watch as the light hit him in the stomach, sending him reeling backward onto the grass.

"Ron! Ron! Are you alright?" squealed Hermione.

Weaselbee opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap.

The whole Slytherin team was paralyzed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging onto his new broomstick for support, Malfoy was on all fours, banging the ground with his fist, and Harry and Blaise were supporting each other to keep from toppling to the ground. The Gryffindors were gathered around Weaselbee, who kept belching large, glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him, but somebody came up with the idea to levitate him, and so Weaselbee was levitated to the hospital wing, belching slugs all the while.

Finally, Flint managed to right himself. "Now, as fun as that was, onto practice! I want our three new ones to be fluent in the language of Quidditch by the end of the day!"

**oOoOo**

"Explain," McGonagall ordered, her lips pursed in their thinnest line yet.

The fourteen Quidditch team members plus Hermione gave her innocent looks.

"If someone doesn't tell me how Mr. Weasley came to the hospital wing coughing up slugs, you will all have two weeks of detention," threatened McGonagall.

"Well . . ." Blaise started.

"Yes, Miss Zabini?" McGonagall looked relieved.

"Ron saw the confrontation between the two teams," Hermione continued. "Since his brothers are on the team, he went to go check it out. I tried to stop him."

"Malfoy was going on and on about our team's new brooms," Harry put in. "He made fun of the Gryffindors for having old brooms and . . ."

"Hermione retaliated," continued Blaise. "She told him that at least the Gryffindor team didn't have to buy their way in; that they got in on talent. Malfoy . . ."

"Malfoy called Hermione a . . . a Mudblood. Pandemonium started," Harry finished.

"What's a Mudblood, Professor?" Blaise asked.

McGonagall's face had taken on the look of an enraged madwoman. She was breathing heavily through her nose and her hands were tightly bunched into fists.

"A nasty word for a Muggleborn. That word is only used in the lowest levels of society," McGonagall stated heavily, using all of her self-control.

"Oh . . . sorry. We didn't know. We won't say it again," Blaise promised, slightly scared for her life at the hands of the enraged professor.

"You will serve two weeks of detention, Mr. Malfoy, for calling a fellow student such a . . . vulgar . . . name. The detentions will be served with me, so there will be no chance of . . . corruption." McGonagall glared at Malfoy, who tried to gulp so no one could see.

"Now, out of the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey will need quiet to work on Mr. Weasley. You can stay, Miss Granger."

The others traipsed out of the hospital wing, still in a bit of a stupor.

"He called her that once before, in the bookshop," Blaise whispered to Harry where the others couldn't hear.

"I know," he answered.

"Do you think Hermione's angry at him?"

"Probably . . . we'll ask if she wants us to prank him just for her."

"Yeah, let's do that."

The rest of the evening was spent planning the prank for Malfoy.

It had to be their best _ever_.


	8. Come to Me

**Chapter Eight: Come to Me**

The following week passed uneventfully, as Harry and Blaise were still meticulously planning their great prank on Malfoy. Quidditch practice continued as usual, however, and they had it three times a week for an hour and half a day on Saturdays. 

As the Quidditch team lugged back to the castle after one of their practices, Professor McGonagall met them at the entrance hall and her voice rang out, "There you are, Potter—Zabini." She walked towards them, looking stern. "You will both do your detentions this evening."

"What are we doing, Professor?" Blaise asked nervously.

"_You_, Zabini, will be helping Professor Lockhart answer his fan mail. Potter will be with Professor Snape, scrubbing cauldrons with elbow grease."

Blaise's hopeful eyes widened. "B-But—"

"No buts, Miss Zabini."

"Can't we switch?" Blaise inquired desperately. Harry glared at her.

"There will be no switching going on, Miss Zabini. I've already talked to Miss Granger, so don't worry. If you wouldn't mind, tell Mr. Nott to meet Filch in the trophy room at seven and Miss Weasley to go to Professor Flitwick's classroom."

"What are Ginny and Hermione doing?"

"Miss Weasley will be helping Professor Flitwick clean up his classroom from the first years' charms and Miss Granger will be cleaning windows for Professor Sinistra, not that you needed to know that." With those final words she walked off.

"The one day we're tired out of our minds, too. . . ." complained Blaise.

"At least we're getting them over with."

"Good point, I suppose. But I don't have to be happy with it."

"Too right you are."

"What time is it, Marcus?" Blaise asked their captain.

He looked at the watch on his wrist. "Six-thirty."

"We've gotta go then, Harry. C'mon."

After they had found and informed Theo and Ginny of their upcoming detentions, they left the common room, going their separate ways.

**oOoOo**

Hermione was bored. It seemed that Peeves had decided to cover the windows in the Astronomy Tower with black ink, virtually making sure that no Astronomy lessons could take place. So she was stuck cleaning them.

Oh, well, at least she wasn't with Lockhart or Snape. She didn't envy Blaise and Harry. Or Theo, for that matter, who'd gotten stuck in the trophy room with Filch. They were a rather unlucky bunch.

But then again, eyeing the windows where the stubborn black ink _was not coming off_, maybe she should envy them.

Would she like to be with Lockhart, answering fan mail? Not particularly, since Ron had knocked some sense into her.

Would she like to be with Snape, cleaning cauldrons? No.

Would she like to be with Filch, shining up trophies? No.

Would she like to be with Flitwick, fixing the mess made from messed-up charms? Maybe.

Scratch that; Hermione was fine where she was. All detentions sucked.

And this _did_ screw with her perfect record.

Damn.

**oOoOo**

Yep, Ginny was just having the _time of her life_ picking up burnt feathers and sweeping up numerous piles of ashes.

Yeah, _right_.

It seemed that the new batch of first years couldn't do a bit of magic to save their lives. Ginny snorted.

Oh, wait . . . she was _in_ that group of first years. But this hadn't come from her lesson with the Hufflepuffs. In fact, she had gotten her Levitation Charm right the first time. This mess must've been made by the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. Mainly just the Gryffindors.

Uh, she couldn't _believe_ they were making her clean up after Gryffindors.

It must have been that Colin Creevey who made this mess.

She would ask Professor Flitwick when he came back.

**oOoOo**

Theodore Nott was mad. Really mad.

Honestly, he could be in the common room, working dedicatedly on that essay for McGonagall, but instead he was stuck in the trophy room with a sponge and bucket of water, polishing trophies with Filch watching him like a hawk.

This sucked.

But here Theo was, scrubbing trophies lazily, wishing he could be working on that three foot long essay. It was due Monday, after all, and he only had half of it done.

"Scrub harder, boy, that trophy's important. Oh, how I wish I could bring out my whips. . . ." Filch barked at him.

Screw Filch. Wait. Ew! That was disgusting. . . .

Theo looked at the "important" trophy he was polishing. Tom Riddle, Special Services to the School. Theo shrugged. The guy probably just donated a lot of money.

An image of Draco Malfoy came to mind.

Theo sniggered.

"Shut up, boy, and scrub! God, how I wish I could hang you from the ceiling."

Theo glared.

This sucked.

**oOoOo**

When the door flew open and Lockhart beamed down at her, Blaise just _knew_ this detention was going to last _forever_. . . .

She had gotten tired of the framed photographs housing the numerous Lockharts in the first five seconds.

Honestly, how could the guy wink and smile _so much_?

It was disgusting. . . .

I mean, he was so gay! So girly and . . . God, he was even wearing _mauve robes_! (Blaise didn't have a problem with gays, but this guy could get on her nerves, okay?) And she had to answer his fan mail for him. She had enough of Parkinson as it was without dealing with an older version.

Nuh-uh.

Not Blaise Cyrilla Zabini.

She was too good for this!

"You can address the envelopes! This first one's to Gladys Gudgeon, bless her—huge fan of mine—"

Blaise hated her already.

And so she got to work. Every now and then Lockhart would pop up saying something like, "It really was nice of Harry to befriend you," and "To be the best friend of one so famous . . . I wonder what it's like. He must be doing you a huge favor, being your friend."

Blaise suppressed a yawn.

But then he said, "But I'm sure that he really appreciates you. Enough to ask you to marry him when you're old enough, you know. You are quite pretty."

Blaise blinked.

Hmm . . . what would it be like if Harry asked her to marry him? The wedding would be lovely, of course. He would wear a tuxedo and she a sparkly white gown. Ginny could be her Maid of Honor, and Theo could be Harry's Best Man. Perhaps Hermione and that Mandy girl could be two of her bridesmaids, and—

Stop, Blaise. No daydreaming allowed.

But daydreaming was so _nice_.

Especially that daydream she had had in History of Magic that day that Harry kissed her. That one was _so sweet_.

But Harry was never to know of this stupid little crush.

So no daydreaming allowed.

**oOoOo**

Harry could not _believe_ Snape was making him scrub the cauldrons of the fifth years (who had been making Veritaserum, and failing horribly, according to Snape). Some of them were even filled with this crusty purple goop.

This work shouldn't be forced on anyone!

So Harry set about doing the task and letting his mind wander.

He had had a very nice daydream in History of Magic that he finally got the courage up to kiss Blaise. It was _amazing_.

Harry blushed and hoped Snape didn't look up.

And that dream he had had this morning, with the green silk sheets, that was Blaise beside him. He just knew it, because that was what her shampoo smelled like, lilies and lavender.

He hadn't gone snooping or anything, he had just smelt it in her hair.

And taken a few whiffs of it, too. . . .

But that was beside the point.

And it was awkward, having dreams of his _best friend_ in his _bed_. (Even though they hadn't even done anything!)

The point was to get his mind off this menial task, and the thought that he could be a stalker _was not helping_.

Then Harry realized he couldn't daydream about what it would be like to be with Blaise, because he had decided long ago that daydreaming wasn't allowed.

It put ideas into his head; bad ideas.

Or some would say perverted, for a twelve-year-old boy. . . .

Nope, daydreaming wasn't allowed.

But he couldn't control his dreams.

Oh, _God_.

Harry blushed.

Then he sneaked a look to see that Snape was still grading essays.

You could never be too sure, these days.

Then he heard something. It was a voice, a voice to chill the very bone marrow, a voice of breathtaking, ice-cold venom.

_"Come . . . come to me. . . . Let me rip you. . . . Let me tear you. . . . Let me kill you. . . ."_

Harry gave a huge jump and his goopy purple sponge fell from his hand.

"_What_?" he said loudly.

"What, Potter?" Snape looked up.

"It—I heard a—a voice."

"A voice, Potter? And tell me, Potter, what did the voice say?" Snape snorted.

"It said . . . come, come to me. Let me rip you, let me tear you . . . let me kill you."

"I think, Potter, you've been reading too much science fiction," Snape said, a curious look seen in his obsidian eyes.

"I'm not lying, Professor!"

"I didn't say you were lying, Potter; just hallucinating."

"Like that's much better!"

"Its better hallucinating than hearing voices, Potter. It's a very . . . _bad_ thing to hear voices, even in the wizarding world."

"I kinda figured that," Harry mumbled.

But when he thought about it, the voice reminded him of talking to Sneak. It wasn't the same voice, of course, but the same manner of speaking. It was hard to describe. But it was the same, he just knew it.

It was the voice of a snake.

**oOoOo**

The four Slytherins met back in the common room after detention, Harry having arrived there first (because of his close proximity to the dungeons) and collapsed into an armchair near the dying fire.

"So, how was Lockhart?" he asked Blaise when she came in and collapsed beside him.

"Horrible . . . kept saying I should be grateful I had you as a friend. How was Snape?"

"I'll tell you when Theo and Ginny get here."

Blaise raised her eyebrows. Must be important then, if he only wanted to say it once.

Theo and Ginny came in together, Theo ranting, "Fourteen times he made me buff up that Quidditch cup before he was satisfied. The same with some Special Award for Services to the School. Took me ages to get the dust off to his expectations. . . ."

"Oh, hey, Harry—Blaise. How were your detentions?" Ginny asked.

"Lockhart was horrible."

"I heard a voice."

Heads turned in Harry's direction.

"A voice?" Blaise asked.

"Yeah, it said . . . come to me, let me rip you, tear you . . . kill you."

"And only you heard it?" asked Theo.

"Yeah," Harry said, rubbing his forehead.

"Harry . . . that's bad," Ginny added hesitantly.

"Naw, I never knew that," Harry spat.

"What do you think it was?" inquired Blaise.

"I think it was a snake. It had the same . . . feel . . . to it as talking to Sneak."

Blaise nodded.

"Wait—you can talk to your snake?" Theo asked, eyes wide.

"Yeah, why?"

"Nothing, it's just"—Theo shared a look with Ginny—"a rare talent."

"Is it now?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Ginny said.

"Very few people can speak to snakes," Theo added.

Harry looked at them both suspiciously.

"Well," Ginny said uncomfortably, "I'm going to bed. 'Night, all."

"'Night," they chorused, watching her head up the stairs.

"You know what? I'm going to bed, too," Theo said, practically running up the stairs.

Blaise turned to Harry and said seriously, "I think they're hiding something."

"I do, too. Imagine that."

"So . . . what are you going to do?"

"You mean if I hear it again?"

"Yeah."

"Try to follow it, I guess," Harry shrugged.

Blaise nodded.

"You know, if you hear anything else about this snake, you should ask Hermione. Or just borrow her book about snakes," she put in.

"Good idea. I'll do that. If I can get the book away from her. . . ."

They both laughed.

Harry sighed. "My muscles have all seized up."

"I can imagine. I feel like I've seen enough of Lockhart and lavender ink to last me a lifetime."

Harry burst out laughing. "Lavender ink?"

"I know! How gay is that?"

"Well, not all gay people—"

Blaise glared at him, interrupting him.

"Just agree with me, Ri."

"Okay. . . . Ri?"

"Well, you need a nickname, too. Harry just . . . Harry sounds a bit like that old man in the nursing home playing chess."

It was Harry's turn to glare at her. "Well, if I'm going to be called Ri, you're going to be called Rilla."

Blaise gasped in indignation. "Fine, you can stay as Harry," she huffed.

Harry let out a sigh of relief.

Blaise punched him on the arm. "_Ri_."

"_Rilla_."

Blaise shut up.

"So"—Harry rubbed his hands together—"what about our prank on Malfoy? We still need to work out the final details."

And their planning continued into the night.

But Harry couldn't get the voice out of his head, and it followed him in his dreams: _"Come . . . come to me. . . . Let me rip you. . . . Let me tear you. . . . Let me kill you. . . ."_

**oOoOo**

The pipes in the castle were large, allowing large amounts of magic-powered water to reach any place in the castle quickly and efficiently. However, these pipes were ancient and rarely used in modern days, except by the basilisk.

The basilisk could stay in the pipes for weeks on end, never having to fear of water coming up through the pipes. So he was in one of the pipes now, sleeping.

At that moment something told the basilisk to wake up, and she opened a large, bleary yellow eye. She yawned a huge basilisk yawn, her sharp, curved fangs opening and her upper and lower jaw separating to allow the basilisk's yawn to widen more.

Done with her yawn, she began her early wake-up slither through the pipes, hardly noticing the spiders that scuttled away in fear.

Yet she did notice them. She could taste the _smell_ of them on her tongue when she flicked it out, tasting the stale air.

She was _so_ hungry. . . . It had been _so long_ since she had savored than small rodents, and the hunger for something more was beginning to get to her after a thousand years stuck in the Chamber.

With the smell of the spiders permeating the air, the hunger overcame her, and she called for her prey in the most predatory manner possible.

_"Come . . . come to me. . . . Let me rip you. . . . Let me tear you. . . . Let me kill you. . . ."_


	9. The Bloody Baron

**Chapter Nine: The Bloody Baron**

"Hush, Blaise," Harry scolded. "We've got to go meet the others near the Great Hall." 

She pouted, but quieted as they exited the common room, Theo and Ginny trailing behind them.

The four quickly and silently made their way to the entrance of the Great Hall, checking for Filch as they rounded corners. As they got closer, they noticed two silhouettes on the right side of the doors. Walking towards the shadows quickly, they noticed Hermione (whom had helped with the spells) and Mandy (whom Harry had invited).

"Is everything ready, Jeanie?" Harry asked Hermione. They had all decided on nicknames in case they were heard.

"Of course, James. Has Rilla spelled his tie?"

"Yes," Blaise answered. After more than a year in the Slytherin boys' dorm, Harry had noticed that Malfoy had an odd knack for losing his tie. This would be nothing new to him.

"Have you and Elizabeth fixed the spells on the closet?" Theo asked Hermione, or "Jeanie."

"And I'm guessing Molly's gotten the items we need to complete the spells?" Mandy, or "Elizabeth," asked Ginny.

"Of course." Ginny, or "Molly," grinned ferally.

They quickly made their way to the fourth floor to finish the spells on the closet for their prank on Malfoy.

**oOoOo**

As soon as Malfoy stepped into the closet, there was the sound of a lock clicking behind him, and he panicked.

Now, Harry and Blaise had spent a whole day preparing this closet, and it was ready for _anything_.

There was banging on the door, attracting quite a crowd. "_Let me out, Potter! I know you did this!_" Malfoy screamed.

"Banging on the door makes the lights go out," Blaise grinned, feral.

"Hey, that's not fair!" Malfoy yelled. There was a jiggle as he turned on the handle desperately.

"What does turning the handle do, Harry?" Ginny asked innocently.

"Turns on the water jet charms."

There was a shriek from inside the cupboard and the carpet under the door began to turn dark with the soaking of water. Sniggers began to rise from the crowd gathered around the door. Five seconds later, there was another, louder shriek.

"He must've gotten his wand out," Hermione stated. "Doesn't that replace the water with—?"

Blaise nodded. "Pond algae."

"Ugh! _Alohamora_!"

"Ouch, _Alohamora_ already," Harry said, shocked.

"Wasn't that the one that releases the catches on the pixie cages?" Ginny asked ingenuously.

Blaise nodded.

"_Ah! Get out of my robes, you little freaks!_ _Peskipiksi__ Pesternomi!_"

"Casting any other charm," Hermione narrated for the audience, "causes the nose to swell up and turn pink."

"_Gut of! Gut of!_" he cried. "_Lut__ me out!__ Lut me out dis instunt! You nasty, fulthy bunch of little muggots! Argh!"_

The prisoner's shouting ceased for a moment and the group outside the cupboard heard a faint hollow knocking of wood against wood.

"Oh, I hope that's him picking up a broom!" Blaise hissed, nearly foaming at the mouth in excitement.

"Makes feathers grow out of the ears," Hermione informed the crowd that was gathering.

_Bang, bang, bang!_

"Whereas banging the broom on the door produces straightforward boils to the face and hands," explained Harry.

"I hope he sits down on a tin of paint soon," Blaise added. "That's the one that puts troll mucus in your shoes."

"Which is the one that turns your hair into blue straw dreadlocks?" Ginny asked.

"Kicking a bucket in frustration," Harry told her.

"I wun't fuget dis! Yu'll ull be sowy! Dwaco Mowfoy wun't stand for dis kind of hoomiliashun!"

"Should we let him out soon?" Blaise asked, narrowing her eyes in thought.

"Yeah, go on then," Harry nodded, and the crowd shifted in excitement.

"_Alohamora_" Hermione commanded and the lock on the cupboard door clicked.

There was a loud bang as Malfoy made a mad rush to get out of the closet. As the door opened, he squinted at the light in the corridor. He felt and looked utterly ridiculous. The crowd assembled outside burst into thunderous laughter as Malfoy took stock of the damage. He was soaked through with water and a thick, faintly green, gooey substance. He was covered in algae and pond weeds and the bottom half of his vision was obstructed with the huge pinkness of his nose. The pixies still in the cupboard had a wad of his blonde hair between them and he was sure there were still two of them stuck in his robes. His hair was blue and made of straw, there were feathers coming out of his ears and boils on her face and hands. He cringed as some kind of goo squelched out of his shoes as he stumbled forwards out of the doorframe.

"Damn you all!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.

Blaise smiled evilly at the disgusting monstrosity that staggered out of the cupboard. Dealing out justice where it was due felt very, very good. Silently, she reached her hand into her robes, grabbing the camera she had borrowed from one of the Gryffindor first years.

"Aw, Malfoy, go on. Give us a smile!" Harry said from by her side.

"Yes, Malfoy," Blaise said raising Colin Creevey's camera to her face. "Smile for the camera."

Malfoy grimaced as the flash went.

**oOoOo**

"Oh, that was ingenious. Thank you, Harry, for being my partner-in-crime," Blaise exclaimed dramatically.

"You're such a drama queen, but you're welcome."

"I am _not_ a drama queen!"

"Don't argue with me, Blaise. You won't win."

"Oh, I won't win, will I?"

Harry shook his head.

"We'll see about that. . . ."

Harry snorted.

Blaise huffed and started to ignore him.

Ten seconds later she stated, "So, about our next prank . . ."

**oOoOo**

"Shh, be quiet, Blaise!"

"Sorry. . . ."

Lockhart came past, whistling a merry tune and stopping to check his hair in the reflection of one of the many mirrors lining the walls of Hogwarts. He continued on his way, whistling all the way.

"Come on, come on. . . ." Harry murmured.

Yes! Lockhart stepped over their trap, tripping dramatically over "seemingly" his own two feet. The prank was elementary, but it would help get the ponce on edge for their next series of attacks.

Uh-oh. He was looking around the corridor, suspiciously at that. Harry and Blaise ducked back so they were covered by the suit of armor they were behind.

The sounds of footfalls fading down the hall and around a corner reached their ears, and they came out from behind the suit of armor.

"Oh, look at this, my sweet, two Slytherins slinking about in the halls. . . . You two are coming to my office."

It was Filch.

Damn.

They were screwed.

**oOoOo**

Filch was muttering . . . angrily. It scared them.

"Dung, great sizzling dragon bogies, frog brains, rat intestines. . . . I've had enough out it . . . students sneaking around in corridors . . . make an _example_. Where's the form . . . ? Yes. . . ."

Blaise gulped inaudibly.

"_Names_ . . . Harry Potter and Blaise Zabini. _Crime_ . . ."

"We were only hiding behind a suit of armor!" exclaimed Blaise.

"It's only hiding to you, girl, but to me it's a way of making a man paranoid!" Filch shouted. "_Crime_ . . . prowling the castle . . . _Suggested sentence_ . . ."

Filch squinted unpleasantly at them, and they waited with bated breath for their sentence to fall.

But as Filch lowered his quill, there was a great BANG! on the ceiling of the office, which made the oil lamp rattle.

"PEEVES!" roared Filch, flinging down his quill in a transport of rage. "I'll have you this time, I'll have you!"

And without a backward glance at Harry and Blaise, Filch ran flat-footed from the office, Mrs. Norris streaking alongside him.

"Is he gone?" Blaise whispered.

"I think," answered Harry. He was looking curiously at a large, glossy, purple envelope with silver lettering on the front. Blaise, seeing where his eyes where, ordered, "No, we're leaving. Don't look at that thing, Harry, we _don't care_." Blaise pulled on his arm hard.

"Ow! Don't do that. I was only looking."

"Sure you were. Another moment and you'd have read the thing!"

"Wouldn't have."

"Yes, you would."

"No, I wouldn't."

Shuffling footsteps were heard outside, stopping their argument.

"You have your Cloak?" Blaise whispered.

"Always." Harry pulled it from his bag and they stood closer together so he could put it on, watching as it settled, covering them in invisibility.

Just in time.

They slipped through the door quietly while Filch was talking to Mrs. Norris.

"That vanishing cabinet was extremely valuable! We'll have Peeves out this time, my sweet—"

His eyes fell on the empty office, darting around his office suspiciously.

"Damn kids," he cursed, crumpling up the parchment he was arresting them with and chunking it into a rubbish bin so he could write up Peeves' report.

**oOoOo**

Amazed at their luck, Harry and Blaise sped out of the office, up the corridor, and back to their suit of armor, whipping off the cloak when they were sure Filch wouldn't be able to see them.

"Did it work?" The Bloody Baron came gliding out of a classroom regally, his eyes on Harry and Blaise. "It _was_ you two in Filch's office, correct?"

Neither Harry nor Blaise had ever spoken to the Baron before. "Yes, it was. What did you do?" Blaise said.

"Why, I simply ordered Peeves to drop that vanishing lacquer cabinet on the floor above Filch's office. I really do hate it when Slytherins get in trouble, even if they're the Troublesome Two."

"You know our nickname?" Harry asked, shocked.

"Of course, I do. Any true Slytherin has heard of what you call yourselves. However, I would advise you to change it to something more . . . original."

"Like what?" asked Blaise, racking her brain.

A name popped into Harry's mind; he didn't know why, but it stuck. "How about the New Marauders?" he questioned the Baron.

For some reason the Baron's eyes lit up. "That would be a perfect name, but like I said: Be more original."

Harry was puzzled, but then Blaise added, "We'll think about it, okay?"

The Baron started a new topic of conversation. "Anyway, I've been hiding from a friend of mine. He's been quite the planner for his upcoming deathday party. I understand how _grand_ deathday parties are, but I think he's getting a bit too excited. However, he _is_ a Gryffindor."

"What's a deathday party?" Harry asked. It seemed they were forever asking the Baron questions.

"Think about it, young Potter. That was an unnecessary question."

"It's a party ghosts have on the day they died?" he asked.

The Baron nodded.

"My own deathday is on Christmas, but I rarely celebrate it. Nick is much more flamboyant and extravagant. Ghosts will be coming from everywhere."

"Nick as in Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost?" inquired Blaise.

"Why, of course. What other ghost did you think I was talking about when I mentioned he was a Gryffindor?" the Baron asked, appalled.

"I-I didn't know," Blaise stuttered.

"Well, as it is, Nick has been planning night and day for this party, and I'm sure he'd like to have humans attend. It would be quite the sight to see, I assure you. Humans—and the Troublesome Two, at that—at a deathday party! But Nick would love to have you come, and you seem like a decent bunch."

"Us come to a deathday party?" Harry blinked.

"Why not?" the Baron asked.

"When is it?" Blaise asked.

"Halloween. The party will be down in one of the roomier dungeons, and Nick would be honored if you would like to come."

"Could we bring someone else with us?" Blaise asked, thinking of Theo.

"Why, of course! 'The more the merrier,' Nick said."

"We'll think about it," Harry answered.

"Quite alright, young Potter. Now, if you excuse me, I have some business to conduct with the Lady."

**oOoOo**

"Absolutely not."

"Aw, come on, Theo! This is a _once in a lifetime_ opportunity!" Blaise whined.

"No. I refuse to miss the Halloween feast for something so trivial."

"But it'll probably be really cool. . . ." Harry argued weakly. He wanted to go to the feast himself.

Blaise glared at her friend. She really wanted to go. It would be cool! They'd possibly get to meet all kinds of wicked ghosts! She then glared at Theo, who was unwavering in his decision.

"You can't scare me with that glare, Blaise. It's overused," Theo said cheekily.

Blaise pouted.

"You're not going to give up, are you?" a moody Theo asked.

Blaise shook her head, still pouting. Theo growled deep in his throat.

"Fine, I'll come, but _if it sucks_, I'm warning you, it'll be your _entire fault_."

Blaise grinned smugly.

**oOoOo**

When Halloween arrived, Theo appeared to be in one of his moods, grumbling unintelligibly to himself all day. The rest of the school was happily anticipating the Halloween feast, with all the decorations and rumors of the entertainment Dumbledore would be getting for it.

Blaise went through the day in a happy mood, and Harry was somewhere between miserable and excited. It would be fun to go to a deathday party (he doubted many humans had before them), but would there be anything to eat there? Ghosts didn't have to eat, after all. . . . He decided to find out when they got there.

So at seven o'clock, Harry, Blaise, and Theo, instead of heading up the stairs to the Great Hall, headed deeper into the dungeons. The passageway leading to the party had been lined with candles, all a long, jet-black taper that burned a bright blue. The effect was a dim, ghostly light even over their living faces. The temperature got even colder as they went farther down into the castle.

As they neared their destination, they could hear what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard. Theo flinched and Blaise gave a whimper, covering her ears. Harry decided to cover his own ears.

"Is that supposed to be _music_?" Theo whispered, turning to his covered-eared friends. They turned a corner and saw Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.

"My dear friends," he said mournfully. "Welcome, welcome . . . so pleased you could come. . . ."

He swept off his plumed hat and bowed them inside.

It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was filled with hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people, who were either drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the sound of thirty musical saws, or talking mournfully to someone they thought they knew from somewhere.

Harry noticed his breath and his friends' breath rising in a mist before them; it was like stepping into a freezer.

"Should we have a look around?" he suggested, wanting to warm up his feet.

"Careful not to walk through anyone," Theo said, jumping as a long-dead witch's petticoats brushed his arm.

They set off around the edge of the dance floor, passing a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. They weren't surprised to see the Bloody Baron, who was being given a wide berth by the other ghosts, and waved cheerfully at him. He waved back.

"Oh, no," Blaise said, stopping abruptly. "Turn back, _now_. I don't want to talk to Moaning Myrtle—"

"Who?" Harry asked as they quickly backtracked.

"She haunts one of the toilets in the girls' bathroom on the first floor."

"She haunts a _toilet_?" asked Theo incredulously.

"Yes. It's been out-of-order for years because she keeps having tantrums and flooding the place. I never went in there anyway if I could avoid it; it's awful trying to have a pee with her wailing and ranting at you—"

Blaise stopped her rant when Harry and Theo blanched.

"What?"

"Oh, look—food!" Harry said, desperately changing the subject.

On the other side of the dungeon was a large table, also covered in black velvet. They approached it eagerly but next moment had stopped in their tracks, horrified. The smell was quite disgusting. Large, rotten fish were laid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal-black, were heaped on salvers; there was a great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mold, and, in pride of place, an enormous gray cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming the words:

Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington

died 31st October, 1492

Harry watched, amazed, as a portly ghost approached the table, crouched low, and walked through it, his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon.

"Can you taste it if you walk through it?" Blaise asked him.

"Almost," the ghost said sadly, and he drifted away.

"I expect they've let it rot to give it flavor," Theo said knowledgably, pinching his nose at the smell.

"Can we move?" Blaise begged. "I'm feeling queasy."

They had barely turned, however, when Peeves appeared in front of them.

"Nibbles?" he said sweetly, offering them a bowl of peanuts covered in fungus.

"No, thanks," Blaise said, going a bit green.

"Heard you talking about poor Myrtle," said Peeves, his eyes dancing mischieviously. "_Rude_, you was, about poor Myrtle." He took a deep breath and bellowed, "OY! MYRTLE!"

"Oh, no, Peeves, don't tell her what I said, she'll be really upset," Blaise whispered frantically. "I didn't mean it, I don't mind her—er, hello, Myrtle."

The squat ghost of a girl had glided over. She had the glummest face Harry had ever seen, half-hidden behind lank hair and thick, pearly glasses.

"What?" she sulked.

"How are you, Myrtle?" Blaise said in a fake bright voice. "It's nice to see you out of the toilet."

Myrtle sniffed.

"Miss Zabini was just talking about you—" said Peeves slyly into Myrtle's ear.

"Just saying . . . how charming you look tonight," Blaise said, glaring at Peeves.

"You're making fun of me," she said, silver tears welling in her see-through eyes.

"No—honestly—didn't I just say how nice Myrtle's looking?" said Blaise, nudging Harry and Theo painfully in the ribs and glaring at them.

"Oh, yeah—"

"She did—"

Myrtle eyed Blaise suspiciously, but decided to take that as an acceptable answer when she spotted Harry. Her eyes got a . . . dangerous . . . glint in them.

"So," she simpered, sidling up to Harry, not noticing him gulp and back away, "are you enjoying the party?"

"Oh, yeah—yeah, I am," he stuttered nervously.

"That's good, I would hate for you to be uncomfortable." She smiled shyly at him and giggled.

Theo snickered.

"I knew it! I knew you were lying to me!" Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face, while Peeves chuckled happily. "D'you think I don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!"

"You've forgotten pimply," Peeves hissed into her ear.

Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs and fled from the dungeon. Peeves shot after her, pelting her with moldy peanuts and yelling, "_Pimply! Pimply!"_

Harry noticed the terrifying glare Blaise was giving Myrtle, hearing her mutter a bit under her breath. She seemed to be mad, for some odd reason.

Her antics caused Theo to snicker again.

Blaise bared her teeth, and Theo couldn't help but gulp at the wild look in her eyes.

Theo cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I can't stand much more of this," he whispered so only Harry and Blaise could hear him.

"Right, let's go," Harry agreed.

They quietly snuck away from the party as a group of new ghosts came in and the audience clapped happily. They hurried back up the passageway full of black candles.

"Come on, you guys, I'm starving. If we hurry, the pudding might not be finished," Blaise said hopefully leading the way toward the steps to the entrance hall.

And then Harry heard it.

_". . . rip . . . tear . . . kill . . ."_

It was the same voice, the same snake, and Harry couldn't help it: He stopped to listen.

_". . . so hungry . . . for so long . . ."_

Blaise and Theo had noticed his absence and realized the seriousness of the situation. They waited for Harry patiently.

_". . . kill . . . time to kill . . ."_

Harry jerked his head upward. The voice was getting fainter, moving away—moving upward. But how could it be moving upward? Was it a phantom, to whom stone ceilings and walls didn't matter?

"This way!" he shouted to Blaise and Theo urgently, and he began to run, up the stairs, into the entrance hall. It was no good hoping to hear anything here, as the babble from the Halloween feast was blocking it out. Harry sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, Blaise and Theo coming in right behind him.

Harry strained his ears. Distantly, from the floor above, and growing fainter still, he heard the voice again: _". . . I smell blood. . . . I SMELL BLOOD!"_

His stomach lurched, like he was going to vomit—

"It's going to kill someone!" he yelled, and ignoring Blaise's and Theo's horrified faces, he ran up the next flight of steps three at a time, trying to listen over his own pounding footsteps—

Harry hurtled around the whole of the second floor, the other two panting behind him, not stopping until they turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.

"Harry?" Theo asked nervously, wiping sweat off his face.

But Blaise gave a sudden gasp and pointed down the corridor.

"_Look!_"

Something was shining on the wall ahead. They approached slowly, squinting through the darkness. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering in the light cast by the flickering torches that were positioned on the walls.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN

OPENED. EMEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

Blaise shuddered. "Look—beneath it," she said, tears forming in her eyes and a quiver heard in her voice.

As they got closer, they could see a large puddle of water—and floating in it were . . . dead spiders?—reflecting the light from the torches. Looking farther back, they could see a long shadow cast by something, and squinting harder in the dark, a flicker of light helped them see.

The first thing they made out was a mop—a mop halfway through sopping up the puddle. Then they saw the hands closed around it which caused the mop to be suspended. A greater flicker of light cast higher let them see the person's face—Filch. He seemed to be frozen in time, no motion being noted. His eyes were glazed and unseeing, yet frightened in their own right.

"Let's get out of here," Harry spoke urgently.

"Yeah, we don't want to be found here," Blaise agreed.

But they were too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told them that the feast had ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and the loud, happy talk of well-fed people; next moment, students were crashing into the passage from both ends.

The chatter, the bustle—all noise died suddenly as the people in the crowd slowly noticed their caretaker seemingly suspended in time. Harry, Blaise, and Theo stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly sight for themselves.

Then someone shouted, breaking through the quiet.

"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods! The Squib came first, apparently."

It was Malfoy. He had pushed to the front of the crowd, his cold grey eyes alive and dancing, his usually bloodless face flushed as he grinned at the sight of the immobile caretaker.

"Damn," Harry said so only Blaise and Theo could hear him.

They quite agreed.

**oOoOo**

**_Authoress's Note:_** Special thanks to _koonelli_ for allowing me to use the prank scene from her story, _The Beautiful Game_.

Also, in the first scene, I used their middle names, or versions of them.

James - Harry

Rilla - Blaise (her middle name is Cyrilla)

Jeanie - Hermione (her middle name is Jean, as confirmed by _Deathly Hallows_)

Molly - Ginny (Molly is her middle name...)

Elizabeth - Mandy

I hope that clears a few things up if you were confused.


	10. Stuck Muck

**Chapter Ten: Stuck Muck**

Just seconds later Dumbledore arrived on the scene, followed by a number of the other teachers. It seemed that all of them were curious as to what was going on. Dumbledore billowed past in seconds, fuchsia robes following him, to examine Filch. 

Harry, Blaise, and Theo waited in silence, as did the rest of school from their positions (which turned out to be quite a few meters from the scene of the crime).

"Come with me, you three," Dumbledore said gravely before turning away.

Lockhart stepped forward eagerly. "My offices are nearest, Headmaster—just upstairs—please feel free—"

"Thank you, Gilderoy," Dumbledore said.

The crowd parted in silent shock to let them pass. Lockhart (probably feeling excited and important, for once) hurried after Dumbledore. Professors Snape and McGonagall followed not far behind.

There was a flurry of movement at the entrance to Lockhart's office as the many photo-Lockharts fled from sight so no one would see their hair done up in rollers. (At this Blaise snorted slightly.) The real Lockhart lit the candles on his desk and stood back. Professor Snape had Levitated Filch into the room and set him near the desk so Dumbledore could continue his inspection of the caretaker away from the entire school.

The tip of Dumbledore's long, crooked nose was barely a centimeter from Filch's skin, his fingers poking and prodding as he muttered to himself. Professor McGonagall was nearly as close, examining Filch with her eyes silently as opposed to Dumbledore's jabbing and mumbling. Snape loomed behind them, seemingly disinterested, but if Harry looked closely at the shadows concealing Snape's face, he could see that he was trying very hard not to smirk. Lockhart was hovering around making suggestions.

"It was definitely a curse that killed him—probably the Transmogrifian Torture—I've seen it used many times, so unlucky I wasn't there, I know the very counter-curse that would have saved him. . . ."

Harry noted that Snape rolled his eyes as Lockhart spouted this.

Dumbledore was now muttering strange words and tapping Filch with his wand. Nothing happened, and Filch remained stiff and frozen.

At last, Dumbledore straightened up.

"He's not dead, Gilderoy," he said softly, interrupting Lockhart's babble about some place called Ouagadogou and stopping his monologue of prevented murders.

There was a look of apprehension on McGonagall's face as her skin went a pallid white. She reached up a hand to cover her mouth as she whispered horrifically, "Petrified . . . ?"

"Yes," answered Dumbledore gravely, suddenly looking much older. "But how and why, I cannot say. He is, after all, a Squib. . . ." He exchanged an unidentifiable look with McGonagall.

"If I might speak, Headmaster," said Snape from the shadows. "Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but we do have a set of suspicious circumstances here. Why were they in the upstairs corridor at all? Why weren't they at the Halloween feast?"

Harry, Blaise, and Theo were stumped. Until—

"I had to use the restroom," Blaise said quickly.

"Oh? And why, by any chance, did you decide to go upstairs instead of to the dungeons?" Snape interrogated.

"The dungeon loos are so cold and dreary. Who'd want to—?"

"That's quite alright, Miss Zabini," Dumbledore said with a slight smile that brought a bit of twinkle back to his bright blue eyes.

"Yeah," Harry continued. "We skipped the feast 'cause we weren't hungry, and none of us like Halloween much. We were walking down that corridor when we saw Filch, just like he is now—frozen."

Snape's smirk was wiped from his face. _'Damn that Potter boy and his alibi.'_

Dumbledore was giving Harry and Blaise a searching look. "Innocent until proven guilty, Severus," he said firmly, stopping Snape's rant before it had even begun.

"Our only caretaker has been Petrified," Snape whispered furiously with forced calmness. "And yet no punishment is being given?"

"As he said, Severus," McGonagall cut in, "innocent until proven guilty. We will deal out punishment when we have a perpetrator."

"Plus, we will be able to cure him, Severus," Dumbledore added patiently. "Professor Sprout has recently acquired some Mandrakes. As soon as they have reached their full size, I will have you make a potion to revive him."

"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in. "I must have done this one a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep—"

"Excuse me," Snape said icily, glaring at Lockhart. "But I believe _I_ am the Potions master at this school."

Dumbledore sighed and turned to the trio of students. "You may go."

And so they went, as quickly as they could without actually running or tripping.

As soon as they were a floor down from Lockhart's office Blaise grabbed the two boys and dragged them into an empty classroom.

"Do you think I should've mentioned the voice I heard?" Harry asked the two.

"Snape already knows you've heard it once. He could probably guess."

"No," Theo said immediately. "Hearing voices isn't a good sign, even for wizards."

"You do believe me, don't you?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"Of course we do! But it is weird. . . . You're hearing this voice, and no one can hear it but you. 'Course we think it's a snake, so that could explain it, but we might not ever be for sure. You might really be insane," Blaise said, trying to lighten up the mood a bit. "And speaking of which, what's _The Chamber Has Been Opened _supposed to mean?"

"You know, it sort of rings a bell. I think my grandmother told me a story once about a hidden chamber at Hogwarts. . . ." Theo said slowly.

"And while we're here," Blaise began, "what on Earth's a Squib?"

Theo snorted, then busted out into hysterical laughter.

"Well—it's not funny really—but seeing as how you're probably talking about Filch," he said. "A Squib is someone born into a wizarding family that has no magic. Like the opposite of a Muggleborn, though very rare. It might explain why Filch hates the students. He's bitter."

Somewhere a clock chimed.

"Midnight," Blaise stated with a sigh. "Better get to bed before Snape comes along to frame us for something else."

"Too right are you, Rilla."

"Don't call me Rilla!"

**oOoOo**

"Damn," Blaise cursed, stomping her foot angrily and earning a glare from Madam Pince. "I still need five more inches."

The duo was in the library with Theo during their lunch break, Blaise finishing her History of Magic essay before their next class. History of Magic, consequentially.

Blaise gave her best puppy-dog eyes to Harry, who was just completing the last touches of his own essay. "Harry?"

Harry sighed. "Yes, Blaise?"

"Can I _please_ borrow your essay?" she pouted.

Harry sighed for the second time in five seconds. "Yes, Blaise, but be careful; the ink's still drying."

"I love you!"

"I know."

Blaise set to complete her last five inches, writing as large as was possible for her to get away with.

"I can't believe it!" Theo whispered furiously as he came from around a bookshelf. "This library has no copies of _Hogwarts, A History_, and there's a two-week waiting list!"

Blaise's eyes glazed over a bit. "Why do you want it?"

"For the same reason _everyone else_ wants it. If there's anything written about the Chamber of Secrets, it should be in _Hogwarts, A History_."

"I think I remember something about a secret chamber in there," Harry said, tapping his quill against his chin thoughtfully.

"Do you have a copy?" asked Theo hopefully.

"Yes, but it's hidden in the bottom of my trunk. It would take years to find it."

Theo shuddered as he thought of that mental image and groaned, putting his head in his hands on the table.

"Hey, that's my drying essay!"

He sat up quickly and looked as his arms, which were now covered in letter-shaped black markings. "Sorry," he said sheepishly.

"I can't believe it!" Hermione complained as she came up to their table. "This library has no copies of _Hogwarts, A History_, and there's a two-week waiting list!"

The three Slytherins before her looked at her in shock.

"Wow. . . ." Harry breathed.

"That's exactly what Theo just said. . . ." Blaise continued.

Hermione and Theo blushed and Blaise and Harry grinned evilly.

"I think you guys are hanging out a bit too much," Blaise said, going back to her essay to copy down the last two inches.

"Naw, you think?" Harry whispered sarcastically.

"I heard that," Theo and Hermione said together.

Harry and Blaise snickered.

Hermione cleared her throat as she glared. "Anyway, I was wondering if you had a copy, Harry?" She looked at him hopefully.

"I do, but have fun looking for it in my trunk."

Hermione's face brightened and then turned disgusted as she imagined the same image Theo had. "Well, I would have brought mine, but I couldn't fit it in my trunk with all the Lockhart books." She sat down at their table heavily.

Blaise had just finished her last inch and was staring into space, chewing her lip as she thought. "There is one way to learn about the Chamber. . . ."

The other three looked up, interested.

Blaise turned to Hermione. "If you agree to ask Professor McGonagall to tell us about the Chamber tomorrow, we'll help you solve the mystery of _whom_ or _what_ is doing this. Deal?"

Hermione considered it. It was a win-win situation, and either way it would help them solve the mystery, so she had no reason to refuse.

"Deal."

**oOoOo**

The next day, after Potions, Harry and Blaise walked quickly to the Transfiguration classroom, eager to hear about the Chamber of Secrets.

If Hermione kept her end of the deal.

They entered the room and spotted Hermione in her usual seat at the front of the room. She gave them an almost imperceptible nod. Nodding back the affirmative, they walked to their own seats near the middle of the room and were soon joined by Theo.

The lesson started and they were set to transfigure pumice rocks into spare quills; Hermione still hadn't asked. Just as Harry and Blaise were considering asking the woman themselves, Hermione raised her hand.

"Miss Granger?"

"Professor, I was wondering if you could tell us . . . about the Chamber of Secrets?"

McGonagall sighed, as if she had anticipated that question, but wasn't quite ready for it. She looked around at the students, who were all eyeing her closely for a reaction, and sighed again.

"As you all know, Hogwarts was founded approximately a thousand years ago—the precise date is uncertain—by four of the most powerful witches and wizards of the age: Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin.

"The founders worked in harmony for many years, gathering young ones who showed potential and teaching them all they knew. But Slytherin wished to be more . . . selective . . . about the students. He felt that magical learning should be kept within all-magic families—purebloods. Eventually, Slytherin and Gryffindor formed a rift and Slytherin left the school.

"That's what historical sources tell us. However, there is word that Slytherin kept a hidden Chamber within the school, which the other founders didn't know of, and when he left, it sealed itself. Only descendents of Slytherin himself would be able to open the Chamber and unleash the horror within. The school has been searched many times, and naturally, no such Chamber has been found."

"Always knew Slytherin was a crazy old loony," Weasley muttered from his seat beside Hermione.

"Hush, Ron," scolded Hermione.

"That's quite alright, Mr. Weasley. Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek."

Blaise raised her hand. "Professor, what do you mean by the 'horror within' the Chamber?"

"It is said that the Chamber holds a monster that only the Heir of Slytherin can control."

Hermione asked the next question. "But, Professor, what kind of monster would Slytherin—and only Slytherin—be able to control?"

"All we know is that it is a monster by legend, Miss Granger. Class dismissed."

**oOoOo**

"You have to admit," said Blaise quietly as they exited Transfiguration to go to dinner, "Even though we are Slytherins, Salazar Slytherin sounded like a twisted bat."

"Yes, according to that story. There's bias, Blaise, I could hear it. I don't think Slytherin was evil. His ideas were certainly wrong, but his beliefs don't make him evil."

Blaise nodded. "True."

They entered the Great Hall to see Mandy and Hermione sitting down at the Ravenclaw table. "Harry! Blaise!" Mandy called out as she waved them over. When they got there and sat down, she continued. "I hear that you two and Hermione got McGonagall to talk about the Chamber?"

Harry quickly repeated to Mandy all they had heard, and Mandy was pasty-faced when he was done.

"But what could this mysterious monster be?" she asked.

Harry and Blaise glanced at each other. "We have an idea. . . ." Blaise started.

Hermione looked up sharply from her shepherd's pie. "You do?"

"We think it may be a snake, probably a large one," Harry stated.

Hermione's fork dropped onto her plate with a clatter. "Of course!" she exclaimed. "That's why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent! Salazar Slytherin was a Parselmouth!"

"A _what_?"

"Parseltongue—snake language. Slytherin was famous for it, and it's a dominant trait in genetics. He would have passed it on to each of his ancestors."

Harry paled and pushed his plate away; suddenly he wasn't so hungry. What if he was the one who had done that to Filch and just couldn't remember it?

"Harry? Are you alright?" Mandy asked uncertainly.

"Come on, Harry. Let's go back to the common room." Blaise stood, pulling Harry with her.

"Hope you feel better," Hermione called as they left the Great Hall.

Harry allowed himself to be pulled along, but when he noticed they were heading in the opposite direction of the dungeons, he stopped.

"Where are we going?"

Blaise looked back, appalled. "Exploring, of course! I'm not having people accusing you of doing that, unknowingly, obviously, without conducting a thorough investigation of the crime scene."

"Oh."

They kept walking until they reached the corridor on the second floor where Filch had been Petrified. The writing was still on the wall where Professor Flitwick had been unable to charm it off. Otherwise the corridor seemed to be quite normal.

'Seemed to be.'

Blaise dropped her bag and crawled around on her hands and knees to search for clues. "Scorch marks! Here—and here!"

"Hey, Blaise?" Harry called from where he had been standing at the start of the corridor, by the window. "You might wanna come look at this. . . ."

Scuttling along the pane of the tall window was a row of spiders quickly making their way up a dangling silver thread. Harry had never minded spiders, as they were the only company he had had in the cupboard, and they had always been getting in his socks and his hair. However, he had never seen any spiders act like this.

"Why d'you think they're doing that? It's almost like they're running away. . . ."

"Dunno."

Blaise nibbled her bottom lip before continued her search, crawling over to where Filch had been when he was Petrified. "The water was all along here, but it had to come from somewhere. The question is, where?"

Harry took a quick look around the corridor, and then he found a bathroom with an OUT OF ORDER sign on the door. His hand was touching the doorknob and ready to turn it when he stopped. "Can't go in there. That's a girls' loo."

Blaise rolled her eyes as she opened the door. "Relax, Harry, that's just Moaning Myrtle's toilet."

Harry paled.

Blaise nodded. "Yep, _that_ Moaning Myrtle."

"There's another one?" Harry squeaked, and, to his horror, made Blaise grin wickedly.

"No."

"Oh, thank God."

She entered the OUT OF ORDER bathroom, Harry following warily behind her. The room wasn't in the best of conditions, its sinks grimy and stall doors hanging from their hinges.

Blaise walked over to one of the dilapidated stalls and rapped lightly on the door. "Myrtle?" she called, and stood back.

The door swung open with a creak of its rusted hinges to reveal the moping ghost girl from Nearly Headless Nick's deathday party.

"What?" Myrtle asked sulkily. Her gaze flicked over to Harry. "What's _he_ doing here? _You're_ not a girl, are you?"

Harry flinched. "No, I'm not. I assure you, I have a—"

"Shut up, Harry," Blaise ordered, elbowing him hard in the ribs as she went red.

"Sorry."

"Anyway . . . Myrtle, we were wondering if you saw anything . . . odd . . . on the night of Nick's deathday party."

"If you're asking, no, I didn't," Myrtle sniffed. "But there was this strange rumbling in the pipes."

"Hogwarts has pipes?"

"Of course! How else do I travel around the school? Sometimes people accidentally flush me down the toilet and I end up in the lake."

Both of the humans went slightly green as they got the horrible mental image of Myrtle being flushed down the toilet with . . . other things. . . .

"Did you happen to see or hear anything else?"

"Well, you two are awfully curious! I came back from the party crying over all those horrible things that poltergeist said to me and I flooded the bathroom!" Myrtle wailed, splashing her way back down into her toilet.

"Well . . . that went well." Blaise shuddered.

Harry only grunted and they went to leave the bathroom, coming back into the corridor just as Fred and George walked by.

"Why, are little Harriekins and Blaisiekins—"

"—doing dirty things in bathrooms now?"

Harry and Blaise both went tomato red at the things Fred and George implied. "NO!" they shouted at the same time.

"Oh, well—"

"—we were just joking—"

"—but since you're both in denial—"

"—we'll just shut up now."

And the twins grinned . . . and kept on grinning . . . and grinning. . . .

"So. . . ." Fred started. "We've actually been meaning to talk to you." The four walked away from the corridor together, no destination in mind.

"We were actually wondering if you would like to try out one of our new inventions. We've tried it ourselves, obviously, but we wanted to see what more of the pranking populace seems to think," George continued.

"What is it?" Blaise asked hesitantly.

At her question, Fred dug in his robe pocket and pulled out a plastic package. "Stuck Muck," he said, handing them the package to look over, "You put some on the palms of your hands or the soles of your shoes, or both, and you can stick to walls, ceilings, and other things. You could move if you want but it's a good idea to keep one hand or foot stuck on the surface you're stuck on while you're moving, otherwise you fall."

Harry nodded. "Sounds cool."

"It is, isn't it?" George said pompously.

Blaise nodded as a plot formed in her mind. "It is," she said, staring at nothing in particular. "In fact, it may just help us, Harry. . . ."

**oOoOo**

"So, let me get this straight," Harry quietly told Blaise in the library after their alk with Fred and George. "We're going to listen in on a conversation with Malfoy and Thing One and Thing Two and see if they know who the Heir is, using Fred and George's invention?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"_Because_, if anyone knows who the Heir of Slytherin is, it's the pureblood ponce."

"And we're doing this tonight?"

Blaise almost growled. Almost. _"Yes."_

Harry bit his lip. "We'll need a way to stay invisible, even if we'll be on the ceiling. We could always use the Disillusionment Charm, I've read about that. It makes a phantasmal outline, but hopefully they won't look up. I'll have to get the charm right, though."

"Well, then, you'd better get to practicing."

**oOoOo**

"Are we ready?" Blaise asked Harry in the 'comfort' of his dormitory.

"Yeah, hold up." Harry tapped his wand against Blaise's forehead and then his own. The feeling of running eggs dripping down his head made him shiver, but they were now nearly invisible, only a chameleon-like outline visible where they were standing. Harry could see the warped image of the floor through his hands but the image was distorted by the now ghostly definition of his fingers.

They opened the package of Stuck Muck and put large patches on their palms and smaller ones on the tips of their fingers.

Luckily for them Blaise had thought that they might not be able to hear what Malfoy was saying (due to the exceptionally high ceilings in the dungeons), so Harry had already performed temporary Enhanced Hearing charms and the sounds of mice scurrying around were reaching their ears. Another useful spell they had done was a temporary Enhanced Vision charm, so they could see if Malfoy showed Crabbe and Goyle something. It also meant Harry didn't have to wear his glasses, which might fall off when he was hanging upside down.

"So . . . are we ready now?"

"I think. . . . Does Theo know?"

"Yep, he's sitting in the common room pretending to do homework, just in case we need to get out of a bind."

"Okay, good, then we're all set."

They exited the dormitory, trying to open the door as little as possible, and tried to squeeze through a crack about four inches wide. It didn't work.

"Oops. . . ." Blaise muttered as she tried to squeeze through the crack in the door and it creaked open.

"It'll be fine, Blaise, just don't move it back," Harry whispered in her general direction.

"Sorry."

They crept down the hallway and into the common room, immediately spotting Malfoy's blonde head and Thing One and Thing Two's bulky forms. Theo was over by the fire working "dutifully" on his Transfiguration essay, but looking up sharply from time to time.

Harry and Blaise clung to the walls, the Stuck Muck on their hands letting them quickly crawl up and out of general sight. Unless anybody looked up and saw their shapes clinging to the wall. Then they were in deep dragon dung.

Hesitantly, Harry crawled up to the ceiling, feeling more confident when the Stuck Muck held. He spider-walked over to where Malfoy, and One and Two were talking and looked down at them, sharply taking in details as he willed the charms on his ears to work. Gradually it worked until he could hear Malfoy chattering on about something. He vaguely heard Blaise do the same from beside him as he listened in.

"—surprised the Daily Prophet hasn't reported that attack yet," Malfoy was saying to his IQ-of-two goons. "I suppose Dumbledore's trying to hush it all up. He'll be sacked if another one happens, I'll tell you that. Father's always said Dumbledore's the worst thing that's ever happened to this place. He loves Muggleborns. A decent headmaster would've never let trash like Granger in."

Malfoy stopped to look at Crap and Glop in disgust. "Father won't tell me anything about the last time the Chamber was opened, either. Of course, it was fifty years ago, so it was before his time, but he knows all about it, and he says that it would look suspicious if I know too much about it. But I know one thing—last time the Chamber was opened, a Mudblood died. So, it's only a matter of time before another is killed. . . . Personally, I hope its Granger," he said with enjoyment.

Harry and Blaise waited in baited breath, and then— "And I _wish_ I knew who it _was_! I could help them."

The two Stuck Muck-ed Slytherins' jaws dropped in shock. Malfoy didn't know?

But just then, there was a terrible feeling in Harry's gut, and he got the feeling that he was falling in slow motion. And Blaise seemed to be falling with him. . . .

_'Oh, no . . .'_

Blaise knew they just _did not_ fall into Malfoy's conversation! That was ludicrous! She was _so_ suing the twins with Harry's gold. Then she did the only thing she could in her present situation. . . .

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!" she screamed, with vocal cord help from Harry.

"What the—?" Malfoy had time to exclaim before he was bombarded with two phantasmal forces that were running for their lives. The attention of the entire common room was on him, so he did the only thing he could in his present situation. . . .

"_Beep_ you all!" (The first word was censored with reason.)

Theo had given up on the act of doing his Transfiguration homework to burst into guffaws by the fire. Unbeknownst to him, his Transfiguration essay fell into the fire and burned to ash.

Still laughing, he ran up to the dormitory to see what his friends had found out.

**oOoOo**

**_Authoress's Note:_** Yes, Theo and Ginny know Harry is a Parselmouth, which they are thankfully keeping a secret. However, Harry and Blaise didn't know the ability had a name. Mandy and Hermione don't know of his abilities (yet), but the two bookworms served a good purpose in giving them the information.


	11. Dodge, Swerve, and Dive

**Chapter Eleven: Dodge, Swerve, and Dive**

"Homework: Compose a poem about my defeat of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf! Author of the best one shall receive a signed copy of _Magical Me_!"

The Slytherins and Hufflepuffs filed out of the room. Half the Hufflepuffs were swooning and the Slytherins were sneering in disgust.

"I can't believe he's making us compose a poem!" Theo raged.

"Ooh, ooh, ooh!" exclaimed Blaise. "I've got one!"

"I'm scared, Harry."

"Don't worry; I am, too, Theo."

And then she burst into Wagga Wagga Werewolf song:

_"The Wagga Wagga Werewolf was a lonely creature,  
__Every full moon he would sneak out into the forest and become the Wagga Wagga Werewolf  
__But one day, the Wagga Wagga Werewolf found himself outside the forest  
__He was hungry, so he thought that maybe those hairless monkeys would be tasty  
__After that night, the villagers were scared of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf  
__So they called the police, but the police didn't believe them  
__Meanwhile, the Wagga Wagga Werewolf decided to play the Big Bad Wolf  
__The Wagga Wagga Werewolf dressed up as Little Red Riding Hood's grandma before he became the Wagga Wagga Werewolf  
__So when Wagga Wagga Werewolf found himself outside of the forest again, no one was scared of him  
__Until that is, Wagga Wagga Werewolf started to eat them all!  
__So then, Gilderoy Lockhart, dark creature destroyer extraordinaire  
__Came in, as retarded and stupid-looking as the Wagga Wagga Werewolf in a grandma suit  
__Gilderoy Lockhart the Stupid decided he would solve the Wagga Wagga Werewolf's problem once and for all  
__Thus, Gilderoy Lockhart managed to find himself cornered into a phone-booth by the Wagga Wagga Werewolf  
__He waved his wand and said some nonsense words and, to his surprise, Wagga Wagga Werewolf was a werewolf no more."_

"I'm gonna laugh if that's the best one he gets. . . ." Harry mumbled under his breath.

"I heard that!"

Harry just rolled his eyes as he continued to their next class, Transfiguration.

Harry and Blaise sat down, and Theo gingerly sat down beside Blaise, as if he was expecting something to explode.

The bell rang and McGonagall called out for their homework. Harry and Blaise had two completed essays, but Theo rummaged in his bag for a bit and then glared at Harry and Blaise suspiciously.

"What do you two do to my essay?"

"Don't look at us!"

**oOoOo**

"Hey," Blaise yawned as she sat down beside Harry at the empty Slytherin table. Covering her mouth, she grabbed herself some kippers. "Why are you up so early?"

"Nervous," Harry said, taking a sip of his mug of black coffee, grimacing, and adding more honey.

"Gimme some o' that," Blaise muttered sleepily. She swiped the honey and poured it all over her kippers, drowning them in syrupy sweetness. She took a bite and moaned.

"That good?"

Blaise nodded exuberantly.

Harry took the honey and poured generous amounts over his own plate of kippers. He ate some and groaned in appreciation.

"Told you."

"You were right, for once."

Blaise glared and then said warningly, "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Potter! Zabini! There you are!" Flint called as he entered the Great Hall, the rest of the Quidditch team behind him. All were wearing their emerald Quidditch robes, as were Harry and Blaise. Each carried a sleek Nimbus Two Thousand and One.

"I was beginning to think both of you had died and I had somehow missed the memo for your funerals."

"Ha ha," Blaise murmured under her breath.

"Watch it, Zabini. Anyway, I've been meaning to talk to you."

Blaise looked sharply up at her captain.

"Slytherin normally doesn't accept girls onto the Quidditch team. Never have. We only accepted you because you proved yourself to the rest of the team and you're good, at that. We want to win. So go out there and make Slytherin proud that Blaise Zabini's on their Quidditch team."

Blaise beamed. "Yes, sir!"

"You, too, Potter. Catch that Snitch or die trying."

"Never fear."

"Malfoy . . . ?"

"I'll guard the hoops with my life, sir."

"Good, good. Now that we're all clear, let's eat. We need our strength."

**oOoOo**

"Captains, shake hands," Madam Hooch ordered, glaring at Flint and Gryffindor Captain Wood.

Flint and Wood gripped hands, each trying to break the other's fingers.

Blaise sniggered.

"What's so funny?" Harry asked from the corner of his mouth while looking warily at Flint, whose knuckles were white.

"When Flint and Wood come together, sparks are bound to fly."

Harry snorted.

"Three, two—"

And when the whistle blew, the fourteen players took to the air. Blaise, being the smallest of the three Chasers, went immediately for the Quaffle, as did Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor. Blaise snatched the ball from under the surprised Gryffindor's nose and headed straight for the hoops guarded by Oliver Wood. Flint and Pucey were in formation of either side of her.

"Blaise Zabini, a new player and surprising addition—the only girl on the Slytherin team—heads toward Wood, she shoots . . . and she scores. Ten—zero Slytherin. . . ." the announcer, Lee Jordan (a friend of Fred and George's) said from the stands.

Harry had soared higher than any of the other players, as Flint had instructed, and squinted around for the Snitch. He grinned and whooped when Blaise scored, along with the Slytherin fans in the stands. Everything was going good until—

_Whoosh_. Harry ducked and barely missed the Bludger that had come to knock his head off.

"Close one, Potter!" Bole yelled from where he was batting the offending Bludger in Katie Bell's general direction.

But before Bole could fly away, the Bludger swerved back and Harry had to move quickly as it again aimed for his head. Then, before it could hit Blaise in the gut, it turned around to attack Harry.

"What the hell's going on?" Harry yelled to Bole as he had to dodge the Bludger yet again.

Bole grunted as he hit the ball toward Alicia Spinnet. It came back to kill Harry. "Flint! Captain, we've got a rogue Bludger on our hands!" thundered the massive Beater.

Miraculously, Flint heard and called a timeout. They flew down to the stadium and Flint immediately asked, "Potter?"

"It's targeting me, Captain."

Flint sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. "Can you handle it?"

"Yes."

"But, Captain, you can't honestly expect—"

"Shut up, Zabini."

Blaise stopped, but she looked worriedly over at Harry.

"I'll be fine, Blaise."

Blaise bit her lip in defense, but then she surrendered. "Okay, but if you die, I'm going down with you."

"So dramatic, Blaise."

"I'm serious."

Flint signaled to Hooch before he turned back to Harry. "Just try to catch it as fast as you can, okay, Potter? No matter what I said, none of us want you dead."

"Yes, Captain."

They went back to the playing field; the two Beaters Derrick and Bole, instead of hitting Bludgers at the other team's members, were concentrating on making sure Harry got out of the game alive. They kept on doing it until Harry screamed that he'd never find the Snitch with them around unless he accidentally swallowed it. Then they went back to hitting the remaining Bludger at the Gryffindors.

"Practicing the Russian ballet, Potter?" McLaggan sneered as he stopped in front of Harry, who was doing his best to swerve and dodge the rogue Bludger while still searching for the Snitch.

"Yeah, didn't you know? Me'n Blaise are the leads in the first Romeo and Juliet ballet performance," Harry smirked sarcastically.

"Really?" he asked, mouth hanging open.

"No, you idiot! Haven't you ever heard of sarcasm? You know, the highest and most respected form of wit?"

Apparently Cormac McLaggan lived in a tortoise shell.

Harry was just pondering this as he stopped mid-dive to glare at McLaggan. And then he saw it.

WHAM! Harry cried out in pain as the Bludger finally hit its mark, his right arm. Sharp, stabbing pains traveled from his nerves to his brain as his bone broke.

But the Snitch was still where it had been since before the Bludger hit—to the left of McLaggan's head. With renewed determination, and only his left hand gripping his broom, Harry sped toward McLaggan.

"What the—?" McLaggan quickly got out of the way of the barmy Slytherin. He had this strange, gleaming glint in his eyes. . . .

Harry was now only gripping the broom with his legs as he reached out and made a wild grab for the Snitch. Amazingly, he felt its wings flutter closed in his fist, and he held it up in victory. McLaggan realized too late what had been right by his head.

And then Harry fell from his broom and everything went dark.

**oOoOo**

When he came around, he screamed. There were people of all shapes, colors, and sizes surrounding him, watching him worriedly.

"Potter, are you alright?" came from the Quidditch team.

"Harry, oh, my God! Don't die on me!" That was Blaise. . . .

"Ah!!! Oh, Merlin! Whatever will happen to the fan club _now_?" a disparaged female wailed. Uh-oh. That one must be part of his 'fan club'. . . .

And then, the worst voice of all. . . .

"Harry, my boy! Here, just give your arm—I'll fix it up in a jiffy—"

"You aren't touching my arm with a ten-foot pole, Lockhart!" exclaimed Harry as he shot up from his position on the ground, ignoring the acute pains in his right arm.

"Relax, Harry—it's a simple spell—I've performed it countless times—you've got nothing to worry about—"

"I don't care! You aren't performing any spell, charm, or hex in my _general direction_ until I've seen Madam Pomfrey!"

"It's alright, everyone—Harry's just a bit delirious—"

"I am _not_ delirious! If anyone's delirious, you are!"

Somewhere above him, he heard Blaise giggle.

"That's quite alright, Harry—now, just be still while I do this—"

Harry whimpered in pain and more than a little bit of fear as Lockhart held his broken arm.

"Why can't I just go to the hospital wing?" Harry squeaked.

"He should really, Professor," Flint sneered at Lockhart. "Oh, by the way, Potter, great catch!"

"Thanks," said Harry weakly.

"Stand back," said Lockhart, already rolling back his jade-green sleeves. He pointed his wand at Harry and he dimly felt something hit his arm.

It was one of the strangest sensations Harry had ever felt. The sensation spread from his shoulder to his elbow, and it felt like, as it went, his arm was being steadily deflated. He couldn't bear to watch, and he shut his eyes tightly and turned his head away. It didn't hurt anymore, but it didn't feel even remotely like an _arm_ either. His eyes shot back open when he heard Blaise gasp.

"What did you do to him?!"

"Ah," Lockhart said nervously, twirling his wand in his hands. "Yes, that can sometimes happen. The point is, the bones are no longer broken. So, Harry, if you could just toddle up the hospital wing—Miss Zabini and Mr. Nott, you may escort him—and Madam Pomfrey can—er—fix you up in no time.

Harry got to his feet, being supported by Blaise and Theo when he stumbled. He felt oddly lopsided. Taking a deep breath, he gathered his courage and looked down at his arm. What he saw nearly made him pass out again.

That bastard hadn't mended his bones. He'd removed them.

Harry was gonna _kill_ him.

**oOoOo**

Madam Pomfrey _was not_ pleased.

"You should have come straight to me!" she raged, holding up the sad, limp remains of Harry's right arm. And to think that, barely a half an hour before, it had been a working arm. . . . "I can mend bones in a second, but growing them back . . . !"

"You will be able to, won't you?" Blaise asked desperately.

"Of course I'll be able to," Madam Pomfrey said grimly, throwing Harry a pair of pajamas. "But it will be painful. You'll have to stay the night, I'm afraid. . . ."

"Can I stay with him?" Blaise jumped up.

Madam Pomfrey looked ready to decline before she took in Blaise's stricken face. "Yes, Miss Zabini, you may." Madam Pomfrey conjured another pair of pajamas for Blaise before saying, "Mr. Nott, you can help Mr. Potter. And Miss Zabini, don't be getting up to anything with my patient. He can't be exerting any energy while he's regrowing his bones." She conjured a curtain around Harry's bed just in case.

Harry and Blaise glared at Madam Pomfrey, stricken. They were only twelve, honestly!

Blaise changed inside another curtain while Theo helped Harry stuff his rubbery arm into the pajama sleeve.

Theo finished and opened the curtains to see that Blaise was already waiting to hop onto Harry's bed.

"How's your arm, Harry? Does it hurt anymore?"

"No," Harry grumbled moodily, "but it doesn't do much else either." To prove his point he flopped around on the bed, causing his arm to slump around uselessly.

Madam Pomfrey came over when she noticed they were done. She was holding a large bottle of something deadly-looking called _Skele-Gro_.

"You're in for a rough night," she warned him, pouring out a steaming beakerful and handing it to him. "Regrowing bones is a nasty business. . . ."

So was taking the Skele-Gro. It sizzled down Harry's throat as he fought not to choke it out. Still muttering around dangerous sports and stupid, incompetent teachers, Madam Pomfrey retreated, leaving Theo and Blaise to help Harry gulp down large amounts of water to soothe his throat.

"We won, though," Blaise said brightly, trying to cheer him up. "You should've seen the look on McLaggan's face . . . he looked ready to murder someone. . . ."

"Yeah, both of you did well," Theo added. "Unbelievable flying. I couldn't do that if I trained for years."

"We'll take that as a compliment."

"Okay, Mr. Nott. Off you go, now, before you catch curfew," Madam Pomfrey shooed as she came bustling back.

"Right, Madam Pomfrey. 'Bye, guys."

"'Bye."

"See ya."

Theo left and Madam Pomfrey turned her gaze back to Harry and Blaise. Then she stared only at Blaise. "You can sleep in the same bed as Mr. Potter if you wish, Miss Zabini. I don't expect you to get up to anything. You _are_ only twelve. . . ."

Blaise grinned before grabbing the quilt Madam Pomfrey conjured for her and hopping onto Harry's bed. She laid down on top of the covers with the quilt pulled up to her chin before looking at his arm worriedly.

"Are you sure you're going to be alright, Harry?"

"Yes, Blaise."

Blaise sighed. "Sorry, you know how I am with these near-death experiences."

"Yeah, I know. Let's just try and get some sleep."

**oOoOo**

Harry woke up what seemed like nearly five minutes later (and, looking at the clock, it was) to sharp, stabbing pains in his arm. It felt like it was filled with small splinters. But as he came to, he realized that something dry and scaly was slapping him repeatedly over the head.

"Ow! That hurts, you know!"

_"Sorry."_

_"Sneak?"_

_"The one and only."_

_"When'd you get here? You've been gone forever!"_

Beside him, Blaise stirred. She looked up at him groggily. "Sorry, thought I heard something hissing," she muttered, going back to falling asleep.

"You heard right."

Blaise sat back up. "Sneak's back? Where's he been?"

"That's what I just asked."

_"For your information, attention-deficient humansss, I have been hiding from the Big Bad Snake in the pipes. Don't want to die or get frozen, after all. . . ."_

Harry shot up. _"Frozen?"_

Sneak snake-nodded.

_"Do you know what it is? It's a snake for sure?"_

_"It's Parsel sounds serpent-like, but it also sounds a bit clucky and old at the same time."_

_"Clucky and old?__ How?"_

_"Like she's been here for a very, very long time and is part chicken. There's a bit of squawking."_

_"She?"_

Sneak let out what could've been a sigh. _"She, as in female.__ Got an attitude, too,"_ Sneak grumbled. _"Now, if you don't mind, I'm going back into hiding."_

_"Uh . . . okay."_

_"Good day to you, humansss."_

_"Good day to you, too, Sneak."_

And he was slithering away.

"That was quick," commented Blaise.

"You think?"

"Yeah, it was. What'd he say?"

Harry repeated everything that Sneak had told him about the "clucking, old serpent" in the pipes. It all corresponded with Moaning Myrtle's story of hearing strange sounds from the pipes.

"But what kind of snake can Petrify people?" Blaise asked when he was finished.

"That's what the library's for, Blaise."

"Aw, damn. Not the library _again_."

**oOoOo**

Just last year the basilisk would have been peacefully napping in her sanctuary, but now that boy was telling her to go out and look at people. The basilisk knew the extent of her powers, but that didn't mean she enjoyed using them. It wasn't like she was going to kill them and then eat them. The meat would be hard to swallow after death. No, she preferred her food alive. But what was the good of killing people if it didn't give food? Not any good at all, that's what. If it didn't go in her belly, she didn't want to kill it. Simple as that.

But she had to follow the boy's orders, for some reason. It was like she was compelled to by the sound of humans trying to speak Parsel. It was odd.

So here she was, wondering the pipes that had again been opened to her. All she smelt so far was the fear of the spiders scuttling away in fear. The smell of mice she had been immune to for nearly nine hundred years. You got that way after a hundred years or so of digesting nothing but.

But there it was, the scent of a wizard. And not just any wizard, the kind of wizard the Parseltongue-ed boy wanted her to kill. But was the innocent young boy safe from the true powers of her eyes? The basilisk didn't know.

Maybe. . . .

The basilisk used one of her powers to reveal herself, and the boy first spotted her dark green hide, fresh from shedding. He scrambled with his camera and got ready to take a picture, and at that moment he looked into her eyes.

One of the orders the boy had recently given her flashed through her mind: _Don't__ destroy anything but the Muggleborns._

**oOoOo**

Colin was scared. He wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing, but when you were a Muggleborn Gryffindor and Slytherin's monster was on the loose, he had a right to be.

His camera was swinging around his neck as he trekked his way up to the hospital wing. He was going to see if he could do anything to cheer Potter up. It had to be bad to have your arm broken, and then all the bones in it, although broken, removed. Colin had had his arm broken before, as had his little brother Dennis, and it wasn't fun at all.

So he thought that he could maybe give Potter a get-well card with some Muggle candy. Sure, he had lived with Muggles, but Muggle candy was sweeter than wizard candy, and Harry surely missed it. Colin had got him a big bag of dark, milk, and white chocolate truffles, as he didn't know which one Potter would prefer.

He was just passing the second floor corridor where the first Petrification had taken place when it happened. The first thing he saw was a dry, scaly, dark green hide. Dropping the bag of candy and fumbling for his camera, he positioned it to take a picture and looked back at where the hide had been a second before.

**oOoOo**

Harry woke up hours later with feeling that his arm was being stuffed with large blocks of wood. Then he realized someone was gently sponging his forehead. What was it with mysterious midnight visitors and his head?

Harry sat up quickly, knocking whoever had been standing on his chest to the ground. "_Dobby_? What the hell?"

"Harry Potter, sir mustn't get angry at Dobby!" the elf said, quickly getting into a submissive position on the floor. "Dobby was just coming to see how Harry Potter was feeling."

"Well, I'm feeling horrible, so you can leave now!"

Blaise woke up, startled, at his exclamation. "What the—_Dobby_! What the hell?"

"Miss Zabi! Did you get in the hospital wing, too, miss?" Dobby's eyes flickered to where Blaise was laying beside Harry. "Oh . . . Dobby is sorry, miss!"

Blaise blushed down to her collar bone. "Dobby, it's not that—"

"That's alright, Miss Zabi. Dobby understands."

"Oh. . . . Well, in that case, what are you doing here?"

"Harry Potter, sir, came back to school! He was supposed to be gone from the incident on the train! Bad Dobby!"

"That's okay, Dobby," Harry said, catching the elf's wrist when he went to bang his head.

"No, Harry Potter, sir, it is not okay! Dobby has been a bad elf! Harry Potter and his Zabi were _not supposed to come back to school!_"

"And why not?" Blaise fumed.

"There is danger, Miss Zabi. The Chamber has been opened again, and the monster's going to kill. . . ."

"The Chamber has been opened _before_?"

"Going to _kill_?"

"Dobby has said too much!" the elf exclaimed, rocking on the balls of his feet. "Dobby cannot say!" The house-elf went to leave, but Harry again stopped him.

"What do you mean, the Chamber's been opened before?"

Before the elf could answer, the sounds of footsteps coming from outside the hospital wing reached their ears.

"Dobby must go!" the elf said quietly before disappearing with a small crack, leaving Harry holding onto nothing but air.

Harry and Blaise quickly lay back down, pretending to be asleep as the doors to the hospital wing opened to reveal Dumbledore backing in, Levitating some sort of statue. McGonagall came behind him.

They set it on the nearest cot and McGonagall went to fetch Madam Pomfrey.

The Healer bustled in, pulling on a cardigan over her nightdress. She gasped when she spotted the statue.

Harry and Blaise sat up an inch or two so they could see the "statue" lying on the bed three cots away. It was one of the first year Gryffindors that had helped them pull the prank on Malfoy, Colin Creevey.

Blaise gasped slightly in horror.

"What's happening here, Albus?" Madam Pomfrey asked. "At this rate, half the school will be in here before the year's over!"

"It is as we feared, Poppy. The Chamber of Secrets has indeed been opened again," Dumbledore sighed despairingly.

McGonagall frowned before wrenching the camera from Creevey's hands with no small amount of force.

"You don't think he managed to get a picture of his attacker?" Pomfrey asked.

McGonagall opened the camera and pulled out the roll of film. She stared accusingly at each of the negatives before coming the last one.

It seemed to happen in slow motion. Her hands trembled in terror and her mouth hung open slightly. Her eyes widened and her hands clenched around the negatives in a frightened manner. And then she was frozen.

It was such an odd sight, and it seemed that Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore didn't know how to react. Neither did Harry and Blaise, for that matter. And then the commotion started. Madam Pomfrey screamed in horror before she vomited in the bucket beside Colin's bed, and Dumbledore looked upon his colleague and friend sadly. She could be revived, of course, but the chances of Petrification happening again _now_ were many.

"Who could be doing this, Albus?" Pomfrey asked, tears forming in her eyes as she took in the still form of Professor McGonagall.

"It isn't _who_, Poppy, but _how_."

The only thought running through Harry's and Blaise's heads was, _"What the hell?"_

**oOoOo**

_**Authoress's Note:**_ Special thanks to Curse of Immortality for writing the poem about the Wagga Wagga Werewolf for me! (His was so much better than mine!)

Happy Valentine's Day! Or, if you're like me, Happy Singles' Awareness Day!


	12. An Overindulgence of Onomatopoeia

**Chapter Twelve: An Overindulgence of Onomatopoeia**

"I'm quite pleased with the poems this class has turned in—they were all good—but I was especially pleased with the poem written by . . ."

Several of the Hufflepuff girls blushed and crossed their fingers.

"Miss Blaise Zabini!"

Blaise's jaw dropped and Harry and Theo snickered.

"I told you I'd laugh if your poem won," Harry whispered behind his hand.

"Shut—up," Blaise said through a clenched jaw.

Theo breathed in deeply and held it, turning slightly blue as he tried to keep from interrupting Lockhart's egotistical speech. Harry hit him hard on the back and Theo snorted as his control broke somewhat.

Harry fluttered his eyelashes innocently when Theo glared at him.

Blaise rolled her eyes. "_Boys_, honestly."

"You know you love us," Harry grinned with a wink.

"Only a bit," she murmured as her cheeks tinted pink. She sunk down in her chair in embarrassment.

Thankfully the bell soon rang and the Slytherins filed out of the classroom quickly on their way to Transfiguration. The Hufflepuffs trailed slightly behind as they dreaded their following Potions class.

"Zabini!" Malfoy called from where he was walking behind them with Things One and Two. "What did you write about in your poem, huh? About how gallant a hero that poncy queer is?"

Harry, Blaise, and Theo spun around, Blaise's curls hitting Harry's face in the process. She ignored him as he rubbed his stung cheek. "For your information, no, I didn't. In fact, I wrote about how stupid and poncy he is. However, I have my suspicions about _your_ poem."

Blaise turned around and continued walking as Malfoy's eyes widened at the supposed innuendo.

He glared and stomped past them, clenching his fists together angrily as he yelled to Crap and Glop. Apparently they were falling behind.

Harry grinned cheekily at Blaise and high-fived her as they walked past the Great Hall. On their way they passed a great crowd surrounding the notice board—

Wait, hold up. Great crowd surrounding the notice board? The trio quickly backtracked and tried to see what they were all staring at.

Blaise glared up at Theo, who had an advantage point from between the heads of two Gryffindors. "Read it to us short folk," she commanded.

Theo raised his eyebrow, but he complied anyway. "It says that there's to be a Dueling Club; first meeting is tonight at eight. It's open to everyone. Think we should go?"

"Dueling could come in handy. . . ." Harry admitted.

"Well, then—problem solved. We'll go! Plus, it sounds fun."

Harry and Theo sighed as Blaise dragged them along to Transfiguration.

Halfway there she realized it was Transfiguration she was skipping and whistling to.

**oOoOo**

It was when they arrived outside the classroom that the trio realized that McGonagall wouldn't be doing any teaching in her frozen state. But it seemed the classes hadn't been cancelled, as the door was open and a few students were already filing in. What had become their customary box of mice was sitting on the teacher's desk. They hesitantly entered the classroom.

"Ah," a pleasant voice exclaimed as they entered. "Is this everyone?"

The headmaster, it seemed, would now be teaching them Transfiguration.

"I believe so. . . ." Dumbledore hummed with a smile as he popped a lemon drop in his mouth. Noticing the students' stares, he asked politely, "Oh, does anyone else want one?"

The second year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws shook their heads as one and Dumbledore looked slightly disappointed.

"Ah, well, to Transfiguration! Now, today we will be working on turning buttons into centipedes, so if you will take out your previous notes, we will first be . . ."

**oOoOo**

"Oh, this is _so cool_," Blaise gushed as she, Harry, and Theo entered the Great Hall at eight o'clock that evening. All the House tables had been pushed aside and in its place was a centered dueling platform. Students of all ages milled around it, desperate for a good view. The chatter was deafening.

"Did the whole _school_ come?" asked Harry as they slowly pushed their way to the front, sneering at anyone in their path.

"Probably."

Blaise huffed in exhaustion and leaned on Harry as she tried to catch her breath.

"I didn't know Potter was an automated head-prop. . . ." Theo smirked.

Blaise righted herself instantly and glared at Theo. "Bastard."

"That really wounds me, Blaise. I'm hurt." Theo placed his hand above his heart dramatically and feigned a sigh.

"Oh, I've got many more insults up my sleeve, you centaurian man-hag!"

"What . . . the hell . . . ?"

Harry sighed and had just planned on ignoring the argument (insult-fest) when the volume of the Great Hall's noise greatened tenfold, bringing his attention to the dueling platform.

"Oh, no!" he moaned.

Theo and Blaise soon forgot their argument when they noticed what he was staring at.

Gilderoy Lockhart.

And to think that Blaise had been looking forward to this. . . .

They all gasped and Blaise whimpered when they saw the next person to get on the platform.

Severus Snape.

"We'll never make it out of here alive," Theo whispered in shocked terror.

Harry and Blaise gulped.

Lockhart waved an egotistical wand in a call for silence and called, "Gather 'round, gather 'round! Can everyone hear me? Can you all see me? Excellent!"

"I wish I couldn't hear the git. . . ." Blaise murmured, causing Harry to snort.

"Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves, as I myself have done on countless occasions—for full details see my published works."

"Sure, I'll do that as soon as I've died and gone to hell," sneered a smirking Blaise.

Harry clutched his stomach as he tried not to make any noise while laughing insanely.

"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape! He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you young ones to worry—you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"

"I don't know who I would rather have live," Theo said thoughtfully.

"It would be great if they finished each other off. . . ." Blaise said wishfully.

Snape's upper lip was curling treacherously. Harry wondered why Lockhart was still smiling, but then again, the "Defense" teacher _was_ a bit thick.

Lockhart and Snape turned to face each other and bowed; well, Lockhart did, at least, with much twirling of his hands—Snape just jerked his head with an evil gleam in his eyes. They then raised their wands like swords in front of them.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the hushed crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

Snape bared his teeth in a silent growl.

"I wouldn't bet on that," Harry muttered, who had long since calmed down. He turned to Blaise. "I'd wager that Snape has Lockhart down in less than a minute."

"I bet in the first five seconds. How much?"

"Five Galleons."

"You're on."

Theo shook his head at his . . . friends' . . . antics.

"One—two—three—"

Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: "_Expelliarmus!_" There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: He flew backward and smashed into a wall with a sickening THUMP.

"I win," Blaise grinned, holding out her hand for her rightful fortune of five Galleons. "Pay up."

"Not really, since I bet it would be in less than a minute. I call a draw, and since I have all the money anyway, I'll give you two Galleons and eight Sickles, 'kay?"

Blaise added it up for a second before nodding. "Okay, cough up!"

Harry coughed and wheezed jokingly.

"You know what I mean!"

Harry chuckled before handing her the money.

Malfoy and most of the other Slytherins were cheering, and even Theo was grinning. Blaise turned to Harry with a weird gleam in her eyes. "What do you want to bet Lockhart has to go to the hospital wing to get his back fixed?"

"Are you kidding me? I'm not betting you again! It's my money, and you'll know I'll give you anything you ask for anyway."

Blaise pouted and Theo doubled over in laughter.

"_Anything_, Potter?"

"Shut up!" said Harry as he turned tomato red.

Lockhart was now getting unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off and his wavy hair was standing on end.

"Aw . . . now poor, wee wittle Wockhart will have to go fix his _hair_," Blaise mocked.

"Well, there you have it!" the ponce said, tottering back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm—as you see, I've lost my wand—ah, thank you, Miss Patil—yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind me saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy—however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see. . . ."

Snape very obviously minded Lockhart saying so. He looked quite murderous. Maybe Lockhart even noticed this, as he said, "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me—"

Snape swooped down to his Slytherins and swiftly started pairing them up. His smirk grew feral as he rounded on Harry and Blaise.

"I think it's time to split up the Slytherin Sweethearts," he sneered.

Blaise put on a thoughtful expression and then nodded. "I like that name!"

Both Snape and Harry stared at her as if she was mental.

"Potter, get with Malfoy. Zabini—Parkinson. And you, Nott . . . get with Boot."

Blaise groaned as Parkinson sauntered over, her pug face scrunched up in disgust. Harry sighed and went over to where Malfoy was.

"Take out your wands and bow!"

Harry and Malfoy barely inclined their heads.

"On the count of three! One—two—"

"_Stupefy!_" Malfoy yelled, not waiting until the count of three.

Harry quickly dodged the Stunning Spell and retaliated with a sharp _Rictusempra_.

Malfoy sunk to the floor giggling insanely but soon looked up, glared, and sprouted out between giggles, "_Tarantellegra!_"

"I said disarm only!" Lockhart yelled over the ruckus at about the time Harry's legs started a ferocious tap dance.

Snape waved his wand and Malfoy stopped giggling; Harry's feet stopped tapping. He took a minute to assess the damage around the room.

Theo, who had been working with Terry Boot, had spelled the Ravenclaw's hair neon pink (at this Harry chuckled) and had suffered not a scratch himself.

However . . .

"How dare you flirt with my Drakie, you bitch!" Parkinson shrieked, cracking the windows slightly.

"Why would I flirt with that bleach-haired bastard when I have a boyfriend?" snarled Blaise. "I don't even hang out with that ferret-faced son of a boot-licker!"

Parkinson screeched and jumped at Blaise, intent on clawing her eyes out.

"That's quite enough!"

Everyone abruptly stopped whatever dilemma they were in. Hermione whimpered and touched her neck gingerly where Millicent Bulstrode had had her in a head-lock.

"Perhaps we should start with a student demonstration. Uh . . . Granger and Bulstrode, come here!"

"I think not, Lockhart," Snape said quietly. "By the end of the . . . duel . . . we would be sending Miss Granger's remains to the morgue. How about Potter and Malfoy?"

Lockhart shifted nervously on his feet before nodding. "Yes, yes—that will do."

Malfoy smirked and Harry glared as they stepped up to the raised platform. Snape pulled Malfoy to him and started whispering in the boy's ear, causing Malfoy's smirk to widen.

"You know what you're doing, Harry?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I?" Harry spat sarcastically.

_"Yesss, ssurely Harry Potter will know what he'sss doing,"_ Sneak hissed from Harry's sleeve, making the human jump. He hadn't known Sneak was with him. _"You do know what you're doing, right, Harry?"_

_"I thought you went back into hiding?"_ Harry hissed as Snape and Lockhart backed away, trying to keep from moving his mouth.

_"It isss hiding if you don't know I'm here."_

"Okay, bow!" commanded Lockhart. Harry and Malfoy, again, barely inclined their heads. They then turned and walked the required number of paces away. The Slytherins turned again and positioned their wands.

"On three! One—two—three—"

Yet again, Malfoy didn't wait for the count of three. He swished his wand in an intricate pattern and cried, "_Serpensortia!_"

Instead of a jet of light, a huge serpent with opal black scales shot out of Malfoy's wand, hissing and bearing its fangs threateningly. And then, before Harry could stop him, Sneak shot out of his hiding place in Harry's pocket to issue his own threatening hiss to the serpent at least sixty times his size.

_"Back off from my Harry, you overssized flobberworm!"_

_"Why should I, you filthy garden ssnake?"_

_"Because I am Sneak, the great ssnake-god!"_

The serpent imitated a human look that could only be described as raising an eyebrow . . . if snakes had eyebrows. . . .

_"You don't look like the mighty Ugobungi to me," _the serpent spat condescendingly.

_"That isss because I am in dissguisse; hiding, if you will, from my mate-goddessss, Makalamari." _It was only a little white lie. . . .

The whole school was staring in shock at the two conversing snakes, each of them wondering about something different. Harry Potter had a snake? Were snakes even _allowed_ at Hogwarts? Why was Malfoy doing such a dangerous spell anyway?

Snape was wondering something else entirely. Why the hell was Potter doubled over in laughter at that spell? Was it because his snake (by the looks of it) was about to get eaten alive by Malfoy's creation? For some reason, the hook-nosed man didn't think so. However. . . .

At first Harry had been in shock. The fact that Sneak (who was at least—if not more than—sixty times smaller than that serpent) was back-talking and spouting lies was nothing short of phenomenal. And . . . who were Ugobungi and Makalamari?

So, forgetting there was a huge crowd of students who would probably hear his hissing and make him an outcast (more than he already was, of course), he asked.

If snakes had eyelids, the two serpents would have blinked stupidly before answering his question.

_"They are the great ssnake-gods!" _the two fighting snakes answered him . . . at the same time. Sneak and the serpent turned to bare their fangs at the other. The mystery serpent's fangs were considerably larger and scarier-looking.

It was at this point that Harry realized the whole school was gaping at him, Snape and Lockhart included. Snape slowly took out his wand and vanished the mystery serpent, and Lockhart chuckled nervously.

"Um . . . hi?" Harry said with a wave, grinning hesitantly at his school-mates.

"Potter," spat Snape, holding Sneak up. "Is this your snake?"

_"Of coursse I am Harry'sss ssnake, imbecile!"_

Harry let out a nervous laugh. "Er . . . yeah?"

_"Are you not going to claim me, filthy human?"_

_"Of course I'll claim you, Sneak! You're my best snake-friend!" _Harry hissed at Sneak's injured tone.

Snape's eyes widened, and he began looking at Harry as if he were seeing him for the first time. His onyx eyes then narrowed, seeing the reactions of the crowd. Everyone was whispering:

Harry's eyes widened. _'Oops.'_

"Did you hear what he said?"

"He was speaking _Parseltongue_!"

"I always knew that Potter boy was a Dark wizard. . . ."

"I think it's kinda cool—"

"Mr. Potter, I think you and your friends should be heading to the common room," said Snape quietly, handing Sneak to the shocked and pale Slytherin.

"Thanks."

Harry went over to where Blaise and Theo were standing, and they left the hall as a united group. No one said a word until they had got to the empty boys' dormitories.

"You speak _Parsel_?" Theo asked incredulously.

"Yeah, I knew I could speak to snakes, because of Sneak, but I only found out it had a name when Hermione brought it up over lunch one day," Harry explained. Seeing Theo's clueless look, he added, "You were in the library working on that Herbology essay then."

Theo's mouth formed an 'O' of realization.

"I only found out last year when Snape brought us here. Sneak was threatening Mrs. Norris for taking his lunch and I heard Harry whispering to him," Blaise said in Harry's defense.

"Are you okay with it?" questioned Harry.

"Of course I'm okay with it! It makes sense; you're in Slytherin! You might even be related to Salazar Slytherin himself! Plus, it's pretty cool having a friend that can speak to our own personal mascot."

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief. He had been wondering how Theo would take this strange but cool ability of his.

"So Sneak is our mascot?" Blaise said.

"Of course! None of the other Slytherins have snakes that I know of."

Blaise grinned and ran her hand over Sneak's scales, making him release a hiss that could only be described as a purr. "You like that, huh? Sneak the Slytherin Snake."

_"I ssure do."_

Harry laughed at Sneak's reaction and Blaise and Theo's confused looks. "Don't worry 'bout it. I'm going to bed before Malfoy can come in here and disrupt the air with his hair gel fumes and Chanel #666."

**oOoOo**

Sneak hadn't planned on that . . . episode . . . with that conjured snake at the dueling club. In fact, he had just been set to watch his human kick that blonde ferret's arse when he thought he saw the snake threaten Harry. That had made him react.

Sneak wasn't kidding when he said he was going into hiding. That snake-chicken hybrid chick really creeped him out, with her freezing thing and how she could just _look_ at you and _kill_ you.

That really scared him.

To think that that _thing_ was going out and Petrifying people just because she could. . . . The possibilities and prospects for the future weren't that high with her around.

And then he had to go reveal himself when that serpent had attacked his human! Even with the snake-chicken hybrid . . . chick.

Did he have any sense of self-preservation left?

The answer: _No. . . ._

What if the snake-chicken started attacking friends of Harry's or (God forbid) Harry and Blaise?

Sneak was doomed.

**oOoOo**

Mandy sighed as she turned down yet another corridor. After the 'face off of the serpents,' as she had jokingly dubbed it, Mandy had wanted to speak to Harry. But Blaise and Theo had dragged him off to the Slytherin common room, and Mandy hadn't the slightly clue where that was, except that it was located in the dungeons.

She released another sigh as she turned again, and then eeped when she felt something ice-cold surround her for a moment. As the chill wore off she heard a slight chuckle and she jumped.

"Don't fret, child."

Mandy looked up, straight into the not-so-colorful eyes of the Grey Lady, her House ghost.

"Sorry, Lady. I wasn't watching—"

"I know, but what are you doing wandering the halls at night? With all that's been going on, you should be safe in your dormitory."

"Yes, but I couldn't sleep. I'm worried."

"Oh?"

"It's a friend of mine, in Slytherin."

"It wouldn't happen to be the co-leader of the New Marauders, would it?" The Lady raised her transparent eyebrows.

Mandy blushed. "How did you know?"

"The Baron won't stop talking about them," the Lady said with a slight smile.

"Oh," Mandy muttered. And then a thought came to her. "The New Marauders?"

"It's what all the ghosts have been calling them." The Lady smiled. "And I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise."

Mandy mock-glared and chuckled slightly. "Okay, I won't ask."

All of a sudden the Grey Lady went rigid and turned her head slightly; apparently she heard something that Mandy's own sensitive human ears couldn't pick up.

"Get out of here," the Lady commanded.

"What? Why?"

"There's something terrible lurking. It doesn't have a choice in the matter, but the consequences for us will not be good."

"What?!"

Before she could leave, Mandy heard something she could hear, and upon instinct, they both turned around to the noise.

It was one of those moments in time where you don't know how to react, and the sight they saw induced this. One moment the wall was dark grey, slightly pebbled stone, and the next, they could see right through it; they saw straight into the wall, into the pipes, and if they had managed to look beyond, they would have seen every other corridor and what everyone was doing in each House dormitory or common room.

But they never got that far, for their eyes (the transparent Lady's and Mandy's own sea-green ones, shielded by the Lady as they were) locked upon a pair of big, great, yellow eyes, and the last looks on their faces before they froze were ones of pure shock and horror.

**oOoOo**

_**Authoress's Note:**_ Okay, some of you may be wondering why I'm not keeping the basilisk that much of a mystery. The answer: because it's not. Everyone reading this story has read the Harry Potter books and they all know there's a basilisk down in a chamber that Harry has to get rid of. It's not mysterious, so there's no reason to be. But I do have something else planned... :D

As a "gift" to my 100th reviewer (or just any reviewer, if you're not sure), leave a realistic first and last name (nothing like Luna or Hermione or anything else from HP) and I'll give you a mention in the next chapter. Examples: Lila White, Chris Taylor. Just pick something normal, and I'll mention you as a student.

**Even if you're not my 100th reviewer, I'll mention the name you give anyway, either in chapter thirteen or fourteen!**


	13. Blank Diaries and Belated Christmases

**Chapter Thirteen: Blank Diaries and Belated Christmases**

The students were at dinner when Dumbledore addressed the school.

When he rose from his place at the center of the Professors' table, the noise of the Hall lessened and everyone eventually fell silent.

The headmaster sighed, "I am sorry to inform you that two others were Petrified last night—Mandelina Brocklehurst and the Grey Lady of Ravenclaw."

The reactions of the school were immediate. Most were in shock, particularly the only Slytherins that mattered.

"Mandy—and the Grey Lady?" Blaise intoned dully, as if not quite believing it.

Harry put his head in his hands. "This is really beginning to hit close to home."

Hermione glanced over to the Slytherins were sitting at their own table. She was horrified! Mandy had studied with her and Theo for classes, and they had gotten really close. When did Professor Sprout say the Mandrakes were going to be ready, again?

Ginny left her place at the Slytherin table and walked over to where Harry, Blaise, and Theo were sitting.

"Harry?"

Harry turned around and saw Ginny, who was pasty white and shaking.

"I—I need to tell you something about—"

"Ginny, _there_ you are!" a pompous voice sniffed in disdain. Percy. "Come along now, you need to write a letter to Mother."

"Why?" asked Ginny.

"Because you're stuck in a den of snakes and people are being Petrified, that's why." Percy then proceeded to start dragging his little sister out of the Hall.

"Wait! Ginny, what did you want to say?" Blaise said, halting Percy's arrogant stride.

Ginny's annoyed face immediately went pasty again, clashing horribly with her flaming hair. "It's nothing, really," she said as she was pulled away.

**oOoOo**

It was difficult for the students of Hogwarts to believe that, with everything that had taken place, it was now the first day of December. Soft snow had started to fall and covered the castle and grounds with a thick layer of white that made it look like a Christmas card.

But the most difficult thing to imagine was that everything was continuing in a slightly normal way. With all the Petrified casualties (Filch, Colin Creevey, McGonagall, Mandy, and even the Grey Lady), school still proceeded normally.

Dumbledore taught the Transfiguration classes, and eventually got the second years to try lemon drops. Snape passed out the sign sheet for those who would be staying for Christmas, and both Harry and Blaise signed it. Theo was going home for the holidays, and Ginny wanted to be with her family. The second years were all given lists of classes they could take in third through fifth year for O.W.L.s, and that was kinda fun. . . .

_"Hey, Harry," Blaise asked, nudging her reading friend, "what classes do you think we should take?"_

_The list read thus:_

O.W.L. Classes for Third Year and Up

Arithmancy_ – Divination (fortune-telling) with numbers. This class will teach you how to find the magical numbers of yourself and those around you. It can help you find out what vague events will happen in your future, and when they will occur. MOST DIFFICULT!_

Care of Magical Creatures_ – This class will teach you about the various magical creatures and their properties. _

Divination_ – This class will teach you of the methods of fortune-telling using tea leaves and hand lines, among other things._

Forgotten Arts_ – This class will teach you the nearly forgotten arts of crafting wood, metal, and precious gemstones. MOST DIFFICULT!_

Healing_ – This class will teach you the basics of healing and will be helpful for a future career in healing. It is also useful in times of war, and good for general knowledge._

Muggle Studies_ – This class will teach you the lifestyles and cultures of Muggles, including their technology and clothing._

Study of Ancient Runes_ – This class will teach you the uses of ancient runes in divination._

_"Well, I was thinking of taking all of them except Muggle Studies," Harry said, continuing his examination of the list. _

_"All of them?" asked Blaise incredulously. "I knew you were a bit of a geek, but _all_ of them?"_

_"No, I'm not taking Muggle Studies."_

_"So? That's just one class!"_

_"Fine!__ What were you thinking of taking, Blaise?"_

_"Well, I thought about everything except Muggle Studies, Arithmancy, and the Forgotten Arts."_

_"Blaise!__ That would just be taking all the easy classes! Will you at least take Forgotten Arts with me?" Harry pouted._

_Blaise sighed and rolled her eyes, but actually thought about it. "Okay, I'll take it. Forgotten Arts does sound a bit fun."_

_"Thanks, Blaise!"_

And then, of course, was the lost presence of Mandy. They hadn't seen her much, but she had been a good friend, and her company was sorely missed.

It seemed that, even though Mandy had only been Petrified, she had died. The loss of one of their friends made it personal (even if they weren't really that close).

But there was only one way Harry and Blaise knew how to cope with it: They tried to pretend it never happened.

**oOoOo**

"Look at Potter—"

"—strutting down the corridors like he owns 'em—"

"I don't think it's a coincidence—"

"—two more Petrified _after_ we find out Potter's a—"

"—oh, my gosh! Mandy and the Grey Lady!"

"Did you hear him? He was speaking in Parseltongue!"

"—mark of a Dark wizard—"

"—he'll follow in You-Know-Who's footsteps for sure—"

"Just ignore them, Harry," Blaise whispered, pulling her two friends to the Great Hall for lunch after their Transfiguration lesson with Dumbledore. "They're not worth it."

"And let's not forget that they don't know what they're talking about," Theo added.

"Yeah, but there's a grain of truth in there somewhere. I think whoever's doing this is framing me," muttered Harry angrily.

"Maybe," Blaise said.

"Or maybe they're just taking advantage of the student body framing you," said Theo.

"You know what, guys? I'm not very hungry. If you don't mind, I'm going to the library to get a head-start on that Transfiguration essay."

Blaise and Theo looked at each other as Harry pushed his way through the crowds going in the opposite direction and sighed.

"We'll bring him a croissant so his stomach doesn't start growling in Potions."

**oOoOo**

Harry groaned as he entered the library; he wasn't lying about getting a head-start on that essay, but he really didn't want to have to endure the Great Hall when no one would shut up about him. The continuous questions on whether or not he was planning on being a Dark Lord were really beginning to grate on his nerves.

He turned towards a table at the Transfiguration section and began pulling texts off the shelves that looked like they would be a help. He heard faint murmuring and moved some of the books around so that he could see into the Charms section, where a group of four third year Ravenclaws was sitting.

"Oh, come on, Cassi," a redhead was saying to one of the two blondes—twins. "You know Mandy would _never_ go around after dark when there's such a high risk for Muggleborns."

"Apparently she did, _Paige_, since she was Petrified then," the second twin added.

Paige rolled her eyes. "Shut up, _Mariyh_."

"But you have to admit," the as-of-yet quiet brunette put in, "it is awfully suspicious. Mandy did tell Potter she was Muggleborn."

"I think everyone knows Mandy's Muggleborn. Brocklehurst isn't exactly a pureblood name," said Cassi.

"But you do have a point, Alex," the second twin added.

"However, what I don't get is why he Petrified the Grey Lady, too. And how did he do it, anyway?"

"Wasn't Mandy looking straight through the Grey Lady when they found her?" Alexandra asked.

"Yep."

"Potter probably used Dark Magic."

"I wouldn't put it past him."

**oOoOo**

It didn't take long until the castle was being decorated for the holidays and the students going home were shipped away on the Hogwarts Express. Harry, Blaise, and Malfoy were the only Slytherins left. The only other students were a fifth year Hufflepuff by the name of Leslie McDonald and Leander Walker, a seventh year Gryffindor.

Because there were only five students, Dumbledore had the House tables removed from the Great Hall so the students could just sit across from their professors. A bit odd, but it would be odder if they had to sit at their separate House tables.

The castle had been decorated with tinsel and thistles; poinsettias and icicles. Huge evergreens were brought in from the forest and Professor Flitwick charmed them so fake (but quite real-looking) snow settled on their branches. There was also a charm on the ceiling so it would look as though snow was falling into the Great Hall. The suits of armor were charmed to sing wizarding Christmas carols when someone walked by and wore red and white Chris Cringle hats.

Because of the Christmas spirit, Harry and Blaise were compelled to add their own contributions. Red and green toy snakes were charmed to look alive and drop from the ceiling when someone walked by so they could say 'Happy Christmas, furless humans' in Parsel. This greatly amused the two pranksters.

But their greatest holiday prank was when, well . . .

**oOoOo**

_"Psst! Harry!"_

_"_What_, Blaise?"_

_"Can we _please_ get on with it?"_

_Harry rolled his eyes from where he was squatting, dressed all in black to try to avoid any detection from the ghosts or portraits, not that there were many. Most were off on the seventh floor having a party the night of Christmas Eve. Most of the portraits were empty down on the second floor where Harry and Blaise were at._

_"Fine, hand me the book!"_

_Blaise squeaked and handed her partner-in-crime a thick, leather-bound book._

_Harry quickly opened it to a section near the middle that he had marked. "Okay, here it is; it says to simply point your wand and say '_Viscosus Lutum_.' Well, that sounds easy enough, but the hard part is the floor."_

_"Do you happen to be fluent in Latin?"_

_"No. . . ."_

_"Oh, okay, just thought I'd ask."_

_Harry rolled his eyes and flipped to a section nearer the back in the massive book. Okay, here it is; to deal with the floor, all we need to incant is '_Passus Per_.'"_

_"Okay that sounds easy enough." Blaise pointed her wand at the floor they were standing on and took a deep breath, making Harry blanch._

_"Blaise—"_

_"_Passus Per_!"_

_"I don't think—"_

_They both screamed as the floor seemed to collapse from below them, sending them to a heap in the middle of the Great Hall._

_"—that was such a good idea."_

_"Sorry," Blaise said sheepishly as Harry helped her up._

_"No problem; at least the spell worked. Now we need to go do the final part, and hopefully not fall through this time."_

_"Sure thing."_

_They made it back to the second floor in one piece and stopped when Harry carefully put his foot where they had been standing earlier and it slipped through._

_"Okay, this is it, so what was the incantation again?"_

_Harry pointed his wand at the stone floor and said softly, "_Viscosus Lutum_."_

_"We aren't trying that out, now come on so I can get some sleep."_

**oOoOo**

"Harry! Wake up, already!"

Harry groaned as he turned over in bed as his sheets were pulled off. He blearily opened one eye a fraction of an inch.

"Blaise! What are you doing here?!"

"What I always do here, you idiot: Waking you up."

"But _why_?" Harry moaned desperately.

"Shut up, you pathetic imbeciles!" Malfoy yelled from the other side of the room.

"He's not a morning person," Harry stage-whispered conspiringly to Blaise. Her eyes lit up and Harry grinned, and they tiptoed over to Malfoy's closed curtains.

_'One, two, three,'_ Harry mouthed, counting down with his fingers. On the count of three they yanked the curtains open. Malfoy shrieked and started yelling out obscenities, but the two mischief-makers just laughed and pulled his woolen emerald blankets down, exposing too much pale skin to the harsh temperatures of the dungeons.

"AAARRRGGGHHH!!!" was the only thing heard as one girl and one pale boy screamed in agony. Malfoy because of the ice-cold temperature, but Blaise because of what she had just been subjected to seeing.

Blaise ran as fast as she could from the dorm room, Harry trailing behind her and snickering pathetically.

He met her at the bottom of the stairs and cringed when she whimpered and sniffled into his shoulder, not exactly crying but probably getting snot on him anyway.

"Harry . . . why could you have warned me?"

". . . Oops?"

Blaise glared at him and Harry shrugged.

"I forgot he slept nude."

"How could you just _forget_ something so traumatizing?"

"You learn to try to block things like that from your mind."

"Well, I suppose I could understand that. . . . Now, come on, my dear partner-in-crime! I wanna see the effects of last night's rendezvous," Blaise intoned with a grin, leading Harry out of the common room and to the Great Hall.

The walk took little time, considering that the Dubious Duo were walking at a fast pace through the maze of the dungeons to see the results of their . . . gift . . . to Christmas day.

In other words: They were more than ready to observe and witness what mayhem they had wrecked!

And—oh!—had they wrecked mayhem! Just as they arrived at the Great Hall and took their seats opposite Professors Flitwick and Sprout, a commotion was heard from the ceiling and two robed bodies fell into the hall gracelessly, landing in a crumpled, muddy heap in front of the staff table.

Harry and Blaise took one look at the heap, another at each other, and busted out into hysterical laughter, not quite caring what their professors or the headmaster thought of them.

But all good things must come to an end, as the heap soon came to life and a mud-drenched Snape and Sinistra (the Astronomy professor) were glaring daggers at the duo.

"DETENTION FOR A MONTH!"

"AND THIRTY POINTS FROM SLYTHERIN!"

But—oh!—had it been worth it!

**oOoOo**

"I still can't help but wonder how _Snape_ managed to fall through," Blaise muttered as they wandered the halls after dinner, intent on using their last bits of freedom to get some school discovery time in.

"What was he doing on the second floor anyway? With Sinistra?"

Harry turned wide eyes to his friend, and she flinched and recoiled sharply. "Ew, Harry! She's too beautiful for him!"

Professor Sinistra was young, a bit younger than Snape, but she was the most beautiful person on the staff. Several of the older boys crushed on her.

"Yeah, and how would he manage to get her attention anyway?"

Blaise shrugged. "Who the bloody hell knows? Besides, they might not even be together!"

"Hopefully, they aren't. . . ."

There was a small gap of silence as they pondered on more serious matters.

"Hey, have you made any progress on what kind of snake's in the Chamber?"

Blaise gave her friend a long, hard look. "If I haven't, you haven't, genius."

Harry mock pouted. "Just thought I'd ask—jeez."

Their walk continued until Harry broke the silence yet again. "I took a sample of the blood used for the 'Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened' message, and its rooster blood. Why do you think it was rooster blood?"

"I don't know, but the other day I heard some Gryffindors talking about how all of Hagrid's roosters had been murdered. They were all slashed up and there were guts everywhere. Apparently the attack seemed random."

Harry stared at his friend. "It could just be the Gryffindors exaggerating, you know?"

"Yeah, but I asked Granger and she confirmed it."

"Seriously? That's awfully violent. . . ."

"Yup, so I figure either the roosters had to be gotten rid of, or it was just an act to scare everyone."

"Do you think maybe the snake in the Chamber can't stand roosters or something?"

"I don't—Eugh, what happened here?"

The two Slytherins were standing in the third floor corridor, and it was currently covered in three to four centimeters of water, and it seemed to be coming from—

"Moaning Myrtle," Blaise said with a sigh.

Harry blanched. "M-Moaning . . . Myrtle?"

"Stop stuttering, Harry, you're beginning to sound like Quirrell; and yes, that Moaning Myrtle. There is no other, thank Salazar."

"Um, I think—"

A piercing wail broke the previously silent (except for Harry and Blaise's mindless chatter) corridor, and it seemed to be coming from a door that said: OUT OF ORDER!

Blaise sighed and stared balefully at her robe hems, which were soaking up the deep water like a life source. "I'd better go see what she's up to. You stay here, Harry. . . . Or better yet, go head back to the common room; this may take a while."

"You're sure?" asked Harry fearfully. His friend may have been a pureblood, but he didn't want her walking the corridors alone after hours.

"I'm absolutely certain, Harry." Blaise turned to enter the bathroom. "And don't wait up without me."

**oOoOo**

Blaise had gotten back to the common room to see that Harry had apparently given up on waiting for her and had headed off to bed. It was a good thing, too, because a girl like Blaise needed her beauty sleep (though not as much as Pansy Parkinson, per se) and still needed to find out if there was anything off with the diary that had been plunged at Moaning Myrtle.

After she had dealt with hearing all of Myrtle's moaning and moping, the ghost finally admitted that someone had thrown a book at her, and pointed to where it lay—sopping wet and innocent-looking—immersed in the flood binge that Myrtle had created.

It seemed as if the book was calling to her, although that was odd in itself. How did a book call to someone? But Blaise had felt a strange compulsion to pick up the little black book and leaf through it, so she did just that.

To her surprise, it was blank, except for a name on the first page, of one "T. M. Riddle" in smudged ink.

Apparently, it was a diary, and a quick look at the faded year on the cover showed that it was about fifty years old.

It seemed nondescript enough, but why would somebody go around throwing it at Myrtle's head?

Blaise turned to the back cover of the book and saw the printed name of a variety store on Vauxhall Road, London.

_'He must've been Muggleborn to be buying something from __Vauxhall Road__,' _Blaise had thought at the time.

There was a niggling suspicion in the back of Blaise's mind that she shouldn't keep it, but there was the larger voice more towards the front of her mind that she should pocket it.

And so she did.

And now here she was, staring at the empty Slytherin common room at one o'clock in the morning when she had a diary to explore.

Blaise tiptoed down the hall that contained the girl's dormitories and swung open a squeak-less door that lead to the second year dorm. She hurriedly got ready for bed and closed the emerald green hangings, but not before getting a quill and some patented emerald green ink to see what writing in a diary was like.

She lay on her stomach with her legs crossed and was resting her elbows on the pillow before grabbing the diary from her bedside table.

Blaise blinked in surprise. Surely it was a trick of her tired mind that the diary seemed to have dried completely, and looked as though it had never been wet and soggy in the first place?

But no, the book was completely dry, and she opened it to the first page to see that the paper seemed brand new, not even the slightest hint that it had recently dried itself out or the faintest ripple or stain in the grain.

Confused, Blaise dipped her quill in the ink and wrote, "My name is Blaise Zabini."

Blaise's already wide eyes grew as large as Galleons as the words shone momentarily on the page before they seemed to sink into the paper without the slightest trace they had once been written there before more writing slowly appeared.

_"Hello, Blaise Zabini. My name is Tom Riddle. . . ."_

**oOoOo**

_**Authoress's Note:**_ Happy and 'belated' really late eighteenth birthday to _SaphirePhoenix_!

_Names Mentioned:_

Mariyh and Cassi Halliwell (twins; Ravenclaw) - _PotterPhan21_ (Great personalities you got there!)  
Paige Katz (Ravenclaw) - _Dani Collins_  
Alexandra Russell (Ravenclaw) - _Royari_

Names to be Mentioned:

Steve Levi - _animeflunky_  
Kristen Malkin - _BitterIcing_  
Leander Walker - _walka88 _(anon.)


	14. The Itsy Bitsy Spider

**Chapter Fourteen: The Itsy Bitsy Spider**

**Hogwarts Herald (Year of 1992, March Edition)**

**A REPORTER'S SUSPICIONS ON THE RECENT PETRIFICATIONS**

As all Hogwarts students have heard, there have been many recent Petrified casualties, who have been put in their current state by an unidentified Dark wizard. These students are Colin Creevey of Gryffindor and Mandy Brocklehurst and the Grey Lady, a Ravenclaw student and ghost respectively. However, there have been no other casualties since before Christmas. This has changed. Two more students have been Petrified, and they are Steve Levi and Kristen Malkin, this year's Head Boy and Girl. Levi is a resident of Hufflepuff House, while Malkin is a Gryffindor. The two Petrified students were caught in a—er—_compromising_ position. But on a more serious note, isn't it odd that none of Slytherin have been victims?

_Reporter: Leander Walker, Gryffindor_

Ginny scowled and threw down the trashy newspaper that jokingly called itself the _Hogwarts Herald_, nearly making it land in Daphne Greengrass's strawberries and pancakes. The blonde second year glared at her before moving her plate slightly farther away from where Harry, Blaise, Theo, and Ginny were sitting.

Harry picked up the abandoned newspaper and skimmed through it before commenting, "A _compromising_ position, hmm?"

"Stop misinterpreting things, Harry."

"All I did was repeat what the article said, Ginny."

"But that doesn't mean that's what it meant."

"Are you sure?" Theo asked hesitantly.

"_Yes_," hissed Ginny angrily.

Theo held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Okay . . . don't get too frisky, kitten."

"_What_ did you just call me?"

"It's better than sugar dumplin-wumplin, isn't it?" Theo said with a smirk.

Ginny's mouth dropped open in horror. "You wouldn't _dare_. . . ."

"Oh, I would, _sugar dumplin-wumplin_."

Ginny bared her teeth in a feral growl and jumped across the table to push Theo off the bench and tackle him to the ground.

"Get this thing off me!"

"Blaise, come help me kill him!"

"Don't even think about it, Blaise! Harry, come get this mad woman off me!"

Harry had been watching the growing scene without abandon, and then had spaced out when an odd mental image of Ginny in white robes and Theo in black calling each other pet names. It was all very . . . disturbing. . . . But at Theo's last words, he looked around to where Blaise had been sitting beside him to find that she had disappeared.

**oOoOo**

"Hello, class!" Lockhart called cheerfully to the Slytherin-Hufflepuff second-years as the bell rang signaling the start of class.

"Yo ho and the Land before Time," Harry muttered before yawning and plopping his head on his desk as Lockhart began chattering about the vampire he had "supposedly" staked through the heart during one of his "adventures."

"Do you really think _yo ho_ and the _Land before Time_ goes together, Potter?"

Harry slowly picked his head up and turned to face Theo, his eyes as wide as Galleons. "Yes."

"Seriously?"

"Just shut up, _please_, and listen to Lockhart like you always do."

"And the Slytherin snake hisses at his most poor follower."

"Blaise, will you tell him to—"

At that point Harry turned to face Blaise, but then realized she wasn't there to face.

"Where'd she go?" Theo asked, peering around Harry's head to see the empty seat.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Blaise hadn't skipped a Lockhart Lesson since she realized they could make fun of him and the mistakes in his books together.

_Something wasn't right._

**oOoOo**

It was during that afternoon's Transfiguration lesson that Harry was about ready to have a nervous breakdown. Blaise hadn't been present since breakfast in any of their classes, and he was nearly nauseated with the thought of what could be wrong with her.

Although she hadn't been to any of her classes, he had seen her in the halls a few times, wandering around aimlessly. But as soon as her eyes found him in the mass of students, and he found her, she would just seem to . . . disappear.

The bell rang and Harry jumped from his seat—the first one out of the door—before he took off running. He planned to search every corridor in the castle if he had to, but he needed to find Blaise. Something was wrong with her, he just knew it!

There wasn't a sign of her in the Transfiguration corridor, but he knew he'd find her when he turned the corner, and he did.

But the sight of her made him stop in his tracks.

Her hair was unkempt, and she had dark half-moons under her eyes. But it was her eyes that stopped him. Instead of the normal sapphire-blue they were, her pupils had completely dilated, turning her irises black. When she saw him, a hint of red swirled around where he thought her normal pupil may be, before she turned and began sprinting in the opposite direction.

"Blaise!"

She didn't slow down and simply turned into another corridor before he forgot his shock and followed her. She was at the end of a set of steps and he was at the top when he called out to her again.

"Blaise! Stop!"

He peddled down the steps, nearly tripping three times in his haste and barely avoiding a trick step.

Harry stopped as he turned into the third-floor corridor.

. . . Blaise was slowing down.

Why the bloody hell was she slowing down now?

"Blaise . . . ?"

She turned to face him, eyes onyx black, and then began walking away from him again. He followed her, and Blaise turned her head back, saw him, and began sprinting away.

"Blaise Cyrilla Zabini!" he called out before going, yet again, into lets-chase-Blaise mode.

They went down another set of stairs, and Blaise turned a few corridors before going down another set.

And that was when he finally realized it.

She was trying to lose him.

They were nearly at the doors to outside the castle when he caught up with her, tugging her shirt and pulling her into his arms, guaranteeing that she wouldn't be able to get away. Blaise snarled at him and struggled helplessly, but soon seemed to realize he wasn't letting go and stilled in his grasp.

Harry grasped what she was trying to do and didn't loosen his grip in the slightest. Blaise growled at him and resumed her struggling, banging her arms and trying to bite any bit of him in reach.

"Blaise, what the—?"

He was cut off when Blaise's teeth made contact with his wrist and succeeded in tearing the skin.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, taking his wrist out of her mouth to survey the damage. "That hurt!"

When his only response was a snarl, he glared at the girl struggling in his arms before reaching into his arms to get his wand.

"That's it, you're going to the hospital wing, like it or not. _Petrificus Totalus_!"

Blaise stilled in his arms and he began the long process of dragging her to the third floor to the hospital wing. If glares could murder, Harry would have been a very bloody mess, and that did nothing to help his terror for his friend. Why was she acting like this, like some wild animal? They had just arrived at the hospital wing when Madam Pomfrey came bustling out.

"Mr. Potter, what are you doing here? Miss Zabini—what's wrong?"

Harry sighed before answering, loosening his grip on his frozen friend's wrist. "Don't worry, Madam Pomfrey, she's not Petrified; I've got her under the Full-Body Bind. There's something . . . something's not right."

"What happened, Mr. Potter?" the nurse asked as she bustled around preparing a bed for Blaise and easing the Binded girl onto it.

"I don't know. She skipped all of today's classes, and I only just saw her at breakfast. I saw her again at the end of our last class, and as soon as she saw me she started running in the opposite direction. When I finally caught up with her she was acting like some wild animal."

"That is very odd, Mr. Potter," said Madam Pomfrey as she gave him a sharp look. "I'll have to keep her overnight for observation, I'm afraid." The nurse added restraints to the bed and began easing Blaise's limbs into them before securing the bonds tightly.

"Is that really necessary?"

"If she is acting as you described, then yes. _Finite Incantatem_!"

Immediately Blaise began struggling at the restraints, adding a snarl every now and then as she glared at Harry and Madam Pomfrey. The Healer herself seemed to be in shock, and her lips had thinned dramatically.

"I didn't think it was really that bad. . . ." she whispered in shock before pulling herself together. "I'll have to inform the headmaster, and you, Mr. Potter, need to go to dinner."

"What? But—!"

"No buts, Mr. Potter. Out."

Harry glared at the Healer but turned and stomped out of the infirmary to go to dinner. He huffed and puffed and tried (and nearly succeeded) in blowing Hogwarts down as he sat down next to Theo and began piling steak and kidney pie onto his plate.

"Had a rough day?"

"You could say that."

Theo took another bite of his own steak and kidney pie before replying. "So, did you find out what happened to Blaise?"

"In a manner of speaking."

The rest of the meal was finished in silence, and as soon as Theo scraped the remains of his dinner from his plate Harry stood and began leading him out of the Hall.

"What is it, Harry?"

"We need to talk."

Harry waited until they were near the dungeons before pulling Theo into a room that looked like it hadn't seen a life-form in centuries and wasted no time in explaining how he had found Blaise, immobilized her, and taken her to the infirmary.

Theo's face was one of confusion as he frowned. "That sounds quite serious."

"No, you think?" Harry asked sardonically.

"Actually . . ." Theo trailed off with a contemplative look. "It can't be that. . . ."

"What?"

"It sounds like she's being possessed, but that can't be right! There hasn't been a proven case of possession in . . ." Theo stopped, his eyes widening.

"Quirrell," Harry said weakly. "Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort. Why not Blaise? She's only twelve, and a lot less equipped at dealing with the Dark Arts than a fully-grown man."

"When did she start acting weird?"

Harry thought for a moment, then a flash of understanding crossed his mind. "After the Christmas feast . . . we were roaming around the castle, and the third floor corridor was flooded. Blaise went to see what was going on and she said somebody threw a book at Moaning Myrtle; she said it was nothing important, that she left it there. . . ."

"That's it right there," Theo murmured, nodding to himself. "Never trust anything when you can't see its—"

He stopped abruptly when he heard a noise from outside in the corridor. It sounded like footsteps, but a quick glance at a wristwatch proved that it was nearly an hour after curfew. Who was walking around at this time of night?

Harry put his finger to his lips in a signal for Theo to be quiet, but there was no reason to. Harry carefully dug into his pockets and produced his Invisibility Cloak before wrapping it around the both of them.

Theo carefully opened the door slightly with a creak, and they squeezed out of the room and into the corridor, where they could see Lucius Malfoy walking away from them, his boots making a steady _click-clack_ on the stone floor. Harry and Theo shared an uneasy glance before wordlessly deciding to follow him.

Malfoy Sr. led them past the Great Hall and to the front entrance before exiting the castle and walking into the dark night. Harry and Theo could barely make out his silhouette, but decided to follow the _thump-thump_ his boots were now making on the grass.

Malfoy passed the lake without hesitation and then headed toward the Forbidden Forest. Before he could fully make it there, he took a right turn and headed to Hagrid's hut instead. Following his steady stride, Harry and Theo passed the pumpkin patch and Theo leaned down to whisper something in Harry's ear.

"It seems that Hagrid's roosters really were murdered," he said, gesturing to the chicken pen, which was void of any sort of wildlife. The light-colored wood that made the fence was colored with something Harry could tell would normally be dark red—blood.

By this time Lucius was nearly at the door of the hut, and Harry and Theo hurried to catch up with him without making too much noise.

The door was slightly open, and the two invisible boys could hear snippets of a conversation.

"I'm under a lot of pressure . . . doing something . . . wouldn't be . . . duty . . ."

"Not Azkaban?" they heard a terrified Hagrid croak.

The conversation was put to a halt when Malfoy Sr. rapped on the door and swept in before Dumbledore could fully open the door. Harry and Theo scuttled in behind him.

"Already here, Fudge," Lucius said with a cold and satisfied smile as Fang started to growl. "Good, good . . ."

The strange voice they had heard outside turned out to be a man with rumpled gray hair and an anxious expression, and he seemed to be wearing a pinstriped suit with a scarlet tie, black cloak, and lime green bowler hat.

"That's Cornelius Fudge," Theo muttered. "Minister of Magic."

"What're ye doin' here?" Hagrid practically bellowed. "Get outta my house!"

"Believe me, my dear man, I take no pleasure at all in being inside your . . . house." Malfoy looked around the one-room cabin with a sneer. "I merely called up at the school and was informed that the headmaster was here."

"And what exactly did you want to speak with me about, Lucius?" Dumbledore spoke politely, but the usual twinkle had turned into a fire in his eyes.

"_Dreadful_ thing, Dumbledore," Malfoy said lazily while taking a parchment out of his robes, "but the governors feel that it is time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension—you'll find all twelve signatures on it. We feel that you are losing your touch, what with all these _attacks_ at the school. At this rate, there'll be no Muggleborns left, and we all know what an awful _loss_ that would be to the school."

"See here, Lucius," Fudge started, clearly alarmed. "Dumbledore suspended is the last thing we want just now—"

"The appointment or suspension of the headmaster is a matter to be dealt with by the governors. And as Dumbledore has as of yet failed to stop these attacks—"

"If _Dumbledore_ can't stop them—" (Fudge stopped here to wipe the sweat from his upper lip off with a handkerchief.) "—then who _can_?"

Mr. Malfoy gave the Minister a nasty smile. "That remains to be seen, but as the twelve of us have voted—"

Hagrid leapt to his feet and roared, "An' how many did yeh have ter threaten an' blackmail before they agreed, eh, Malfoy?"

"Dear, dear, you know, that temper of yours will lead you into trouble one of these days. I would advise you _not_ to shout at the Azkaban guards like that. They wouldn't like it at all. . . ."

"Yeh can' take Dumbledore!" yelled Hagrid. "Take him away an' the Muggleborns won' stand a chance! There'll be killin' next!"

"Calm yourself, Hagrid," Dumbledore interrupted sharply before turning to Malfoy. "If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside—"

Fudge looked stricken, and Hagrid practically growled.

"However," Dumbledore said, speaking very slowly and clearly, "you will find that I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it."

For a second, Harry was almost sure Dumbledore's eyes flickered over to where he and Theo were standing, slightly away from the grouping. He glared back.

"Admirable sentiments, Albus, and we shall all miss your . . . highly individual . . . way of running things and only hope that your successor will manage to prevent any such _killings_."

He strode to the door and turned slightly before giving them a bow and leaving. Fudge twirled his bowler hat and waited for Hagrid to go before him, but Hagrid stood his ground and said quite clearly, "If anyone wanted ter find anything, all they'd have ter do would be ter follow the spiders. That'd lead 'em right! That's all I'm sayin'."

"Alright, I'm comin'," said Hagrid, pulling on his moleskin overcoat. As he was about to follow Fudge through the door, he sent a glance to Dumbledore and said, "An' someone'll need ter feed Fang while I'm away."

**oOoOo**

With Dumbledore gone, fear spread as it as never before and there was barely a face to be seen in the school that didn't look worried and tense. Any laughter that rang through the halls sounded shrill and unnatural—forced.

Harry kept contemplating Hagrid's words—follow the spiders. It was a clue of some sort, he knew it, but the only problem was that they were shepherded to every class, and there didn't seem to be a single spider left in the castle. It was quite irksome.

Personally, Harry had never had that much of a problem with spiders. Part of it may have been that he had spent a few years of his life living in a cupboard with only the spiders that contaminated it as company. Blaise, he knew, wasn't very fond of them, but wouldn't hesitate to turn her nose up and squash one. He didn't know what Theo thought of them, but the boy had better be damned tolerable of them, because Harry had a plan and he needed someone else to go with him.

**oOoOo**

"You can't be—! Wait, that's it. You're joking with me, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not," Harry said seriously.

"You actually wish for me to accompany you into a forest filled with all sorts of Dark Creatures—just so we can _follow the spiders_."

"Yes."

"You have no sense of self-preservation, do you, Potter?" Theo asked cynically.

"Yes, I do, as a matter of fact."

"Not much," muttered Theo under his breath.

"Anyway," Harry said, ignoring Theo, "I've got my Invisibility Cloak, and we can take brooms just in case. We'll be perfectly fine." Harry sent Theo a glare for extra measure. "We do it tonight."

Harry went up to bed and Theo stared at the wilting fire in the Slytherin common room.

"You're giving me gray hairs before my time, Potter," he whispered before following Harry.

**oOoOo**

Before he knew it, Harry was shaking him awake and gesturing for him to be quiet. Theo groaned (silently) and put on some jeans and a sweatshirt similar to what Harry was wearing before consenting to get under the Invisibility Cloak and out of the dorms. Harry shuffled him out of the common room and the stone door shimmered and disappeared to let them through.

The walk out of the castle was a quiet one, if not stressful. Harry and Theo had to stand close together so they'd both fit under the Cloak, and they kept bumping into each other. The process of step-shuffle-bump-"Ow!" was a tiring one, especially at midnight.

There was one close call when Snape swept by, muttering to himself about red-headed monstrosities, but he didn't seem to notice the duo's labored breathing. They finally found the front doors, opened them a crack, squeezed out, and set off in the general direction of the greenhouses.

Harry left the Invisibility Cloak inside Greenhouse One, as he wouldn't need it in the pitch-black forest (and Greenhouse One had the least dangerous plants in it). Grabbing his own Nimbus Two Thousand and Two and Blaise's broom from where they were artfully hidden in a bush, Harry tossed Blaise's to Theo.

The two quickly walked to the edge of the forest and peered inside. Not seeing any black blobby shapes, Harry took out his wand and whispered, "_Lumos_!" Theo quickly copied him.

"Do you see anything?" Theo asked hesitantly as they searched along the ground for a trail of spiders.

"No. . . . Wait, there's one!" And there was: A trial of small spiders scuttling along the cluttered ground of the forest. "Follow me!"

For nearly twenty minutes they followed the steady trickle of spiders going along a path in the forest with two spheres of light leading their path. When the trees became thick and the stars couldn't be seen in the cloudless night sky, the string of spiders left the path in favor of going towards the right.

"What do you think?" Harry whispered to Theo.

"We've come this far, and there is no way in _hell_ I'm trying to find my way back now."

With a unanimous vote, they veered from the path and followed the spiders into the dense thicket of trees. They couldn't move as quickly now, as there were branches and stumps blocking their way, and Harry had to lean down more than once to make out the trail the spiders were creating.

They kept at it for what must have been only half an hour, but it felt like days. Finally Harry and Theo noticed the ground seemed to be sloping downward, yet the trees were as thick as ever.

Then it happened.

Harry didn't even have time to panic. There was a loud clicking noise before something long and hairy seized him around the middle and lifted him from the ground. Struggling and terrified, he heard more clicking before Theo yelped as he was lifted from the ground as well.

Harry couldn't have yelled even if he had wanted to. The thing that appeared to be holding him was at least eight feet tall and nearly that wide, with six immensely long, hairy legs. The pincers that were holding him up were slightly sticky, and he didn't even want to turn back and see the creature's eyes. Speaking of your normal, everyday, giant spider, another one was holding Theo, whose eyes were wide and glaring at him accusingly. Harry just grinned nervously back.

They were moving into the very heart of the forest, and Harry couldn't even comprehend how long he was stuck in the creature's clutches. He only really got his perception of time back when he realized that the darkness of night had lifted enough for him to see the leaf-strewn ground—which was swarming with spiders of all sizes. Craning his head at an awkward angle, he realized that they were at the edge of a vast hollow that had been cleared of trees, making the stars shine brightly on a scene that had just made it into first place on his Most Horrific Experiences list.

Harry gulped. Sure, he wasn't creeped out by spiders; normal spiders, that is. These spiders were massive, eight-eyed, eight-legged, black, hairy, and did he mention _huge_? The ginormous specimen carrying Harry made its way down the steep slope toward a misty, domed web in the very center of the hollow, while its fellows closed in all around it, clicking their pincers excitedly at the sight of its load.

Harry fell to the ground on his bum as the spider released him and picked up his broom as it was jostled from his hands. He barely registered Theo landing beside him in the same manner and following his actions; the only difference Harry could note was that Theo had a white-knuckled death-grip on his broom handle.

Harry came to with a jerk when he realized that the spider that had hoisted him here was speaking, except the words were slightly mangled because his pincers clicked with every word.

"Aragog! Aragog!"

And from the middle of the misty, domed web came a spider the size of a small elephant, yet he emerged very, very slowly. There was gray in the black of his body and legs, and each of the eyes on his pincered head was a milky white.

"What is it?" he clicked, sounding annoyed.

"Men," clicked the spider that had caught Theo.

"Is it Hagrid?" Aragog asked, moving closer to the sound, his blind eyes wandering vaguely.

"Strangers."

"Kill them," Aragog said agitatedly. "I was sleeping. . . ."

Harry's mind was racing, trying to form an excuse, something that wouldn't get them killed. His heart seemed to have left his chest in order to pound in his throat instead. "We're friends of Hagrid's!"

For the next minute the only sound heard was the _click-click-click_ of every spider's pincers in the hollow.

Aragog paused and said slowly, "Hagrid has never sent men into our hollow before. . . ."

"Hagrid's in trouble," Harry said with a tremble. "That's why we've come."

"In trouble?" the aged spider said with a hint of concern masked beneath all the clicking. "Yet he has sent you? Why?"

"They think—up at the school—that Hagrid's been the one who's setting this monster on the students. They've taken him to Azkaban."

Aragog clicked his pincers furiously, making all the other spiders echo him. Beside Harry, Theo was gagging.

"But that was years ago," said Aragog, clearly annoyed. "Years and years ago. I remember it well. That's why they made him leave the school. They believed that I was the monster that dwells in what they call the Chamber of Secrets. They thought that Hagrid had opened the Chamber and set me free. Why they would think that a clearly young acromantula was the monster of Slytherin, I do not know. It did not make sense, when Slytherin could communicate much more easily with something only he could control. . . ."

"The monster is a snake, isn't it?" Harry asked, bravely, in his opinion.

Aragog hissed and clicked his pincers. "Not just any old snake, human boy! No normal snake has the power to kill with his gaze! The body of the girl who was killed was discovered in a bathroom; I never saw any part of the castle but the cupboard in which I grew up."

"But then, what sort of snake did kill that girl?" A loud outbreak of clicking and the rustling of many long legs shifting angrily blocked out any other noise. They seemed to be closing in.

"We do not speak of it! The thing that lives in the castle in an ancient creature we spiders fear above all others! I never even told Hagrid the name of that dreaded creature, though he asked me many times.

Harry didn't want to press the species of the dreaded reptile, not with the spiders pressing closer on all sides. Aragog seemed to be tired of talking and was slowly backing into his domed web. His fellow spiders continued closing in.

"We'll just go, then," Harry called desperately to the retreating Aragog.

"Go? I think not. . . ."

"But—but—" Theo stuttered.

"My sons and daughters do not harm Hagrid on my command. But I cannot deny them fresh meat, especially when it wanders so _willingly_ into our midst. Goodbye, friends of Hagrid."

Harry spun around quickly. Merely meters away, towering far above at a height he wouldn't even wish for (as short as he was) was a solid black wall of spiders, clicking angrily (or maybe it was hungrily?).

Harry and Theo both got to their feet and shuffled close together, and that was when Harry remembered the brooms they had brought with them. Sharing a look with Theo and nodding toward his own broom, there was a quick flurry of movement as Harry and Theo straddled their brooms and took off, mere seconds before the spiders reacted.

Harry was trained to be able to fly at sharp angles: for example, straight up. Theo, however, was not, and didn't have time to get high enough before a spider wrapped his pincers around his leg. Harry was surprised that he didn't hear the bone break. Quickly taking out his wand, Harry realized a second too late that it would be next to useless. He didn't know any spells that could counter a giant eight-foot-tall spider.

And then it hit him. He had researched this spell, but had never performed it. Not to mention it was a level-two Dark spell and not to be performed. Oh, well, to hell with that. Taking a deep breath and aiming his wand at the spider's pincers, he took action.

"_Discerpo_"

The spider shrieked in agony as the pincer that was connected to Theo's leg was severed from his body, falling to the floor of the hollow as blood sputtered from the wound. Theo looked up at Harry gratefully and shot up more quickly than he probably should have before the spiders could realize he was gone. Plus, it wasn't every day your friend severed a spider's pincer for you.

The duo quickly soared over the clearing and spotted Hogwarts in the distance before shooting towards it.

"You know," Theo said loudly as the wind rushed past them. "It would've been much easier to have flown in the first place than having to go through that forest."

"Yeah, it probably would have."

"There's no 'probably' to it, Harry!"

They landed unsteadily near the greenhouse and picked up the Invisibility Cloak from where they had left it.

Compared to the journey through the forest, the walk through the castle to their dormitory was extremely short and neither said a word until they were both in bed and the lights were out.

Harry was becoming drowsy when Theo finally spoke.

"So the snake is somewhere in the castle, we figured that out. But how could something that huge hide in a castle that houses more than five hundred students?"

"I don't know. . . ." Harry thought for a moment before it hit him. "That girl that died—Aragog said she was found in a bathroom. What if she never left? What if she's still there?"

Theo shot up in bed and said in a shocked, chilled whisper, "Moaning Myrtle."

**oOoOo**

_**Authoress's Note:**_

_Names Mentioned:_

Steve Levi - _animeflunky_  
Kristen Malkin - _BitterIcing_  
Leander Walker - _walka88_ (anon.)


	15. Getting Rid of Riddle

**Chapter Fifteen: Getting Rid of Riddle**

The hospital wing was indeed a very lonely place to be this year. The only people there were people who had been Petrified, and after that Pomfrey Mudblood had given his donor a Dreamless Sleep potion, the only people to keep him company were either passed out or lucky they weren't dead.

But then again, Tom Riddle mused as he rose from the body enclosing him and looked around, Dreamless Sleep didn't really stand in the way when you had a parasitic soul invading your body.

Tom sighed and again entered the body, nearly growling when he realized he couldn't see anything, as the stupid girl's eyes were closed. Oh, well, that would be quite easy to fix.

Taking a deep "breath," he mentally screamed, _"WAKE UP!"_

The girl (Blaise, he thought her name was?) woke with a jolt, and Tom Riddle gave a feral grin. His plan would be difficult, but he had confidence that he would be able to pull it off.

_"Go get the Weasley girl from the dormitory and then go to the scene where the first person was Petrified,"_ ordered Tom, grinning when his orders were thoughtlessly obeyed as the girl rose stiffly from the infirmary bed.

**oOoOo**

The library was nearly desolate because of the attacks on the students. You weren't allowed to be in there unless during study hall and you had to stay there until Madam Pince could escort you back to your dormitory ten minutes before curfew. In any case, students weren't keen on being in the library if they had to be baby-sat the whole time.

This made it an almost unheard of occurrence to find one Gryffindor and two Slytherins there.

But they were there.

The two Slytherins, Harry Potter and Theodore Nott, where currently having an argument.

"All that time she was there, and we could've asked her!"

"It's not like we knew she'd been killed by Slytherin's monster, Theo."

"But if we had known, we wouldn't have had to go in that damned forest in the first place, which would have meant no _spiders_!"

Theo silenced near the end at a glare from Madam Pince, and when she turned away he stuck his tongue out at her.

"Well, we wouldn't have known if it hadn't been for the spiders," Harry said in a whisper as they passed the librarian into the heart of the library, and then towards the back where the study desks were.

It had been hard enough sneaking away from their teachers to go searching in the Forbidden Forest, but to sneak into a girls' bathroom right next to the scene of the first attack would be nearly impossible. The key word being 'nearly.'

The library had been ominously quiet, but as they neared the back they heard the rustling of pages turning, and a girl's agitated sighs as she apparently didn't find what she was looking for. And it happened to be a Gryffindor girl with bushy—

"Hey, Hermione," Theo said as he collapsed into the empty seat next to her.

"Hello," the girl distractedly said, flipping through more pages in more books and becoming even more irritated.

"What's wrong?" asked Harry, taking the other empty seat and peering over to see what she was looking for.

"There are no books in this damn library that tell you anything about giant snakes that Petrify people!"

"You just swore. . . ." gaped Theo in awe.

"Actually I think their gaze kills, but there must be some way to counter it, because no one has died," Harry added as he picked up one of the books Hermione hadn't gotten to and began shuffling through it.

Hermione's eyes glazed over. "That's it!"

"What's it?" Harry and Theo asked, completely clueless.

"Reflections! Mr. Filch saw the snake in the reflection of the water he was mopping up, Colin saw it through his camera, McGonagall only saw it through a reflection in the picture Colin took, and Mandy saw it through the Grey Lady! The Lady got it head on, but she couldn't die _again_!"

"But the question still remains," Theo said carefully, "what exactly is it?"

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?" she asked as she began shifting past the Looked Through stack to the Not Looked Through stack.

"Do you still have that book you had this summer on snakes?"

Hermione looked up slowly to stare at Harry over one of the stacks, her eyes as wide as saucers.

"Why didn't I think of it before?" she said mostly to herself before running out of the library faster than light can travel.

"Reckon she'll be back?"

"Probably."

A few minutes later Hermione was back, carrying the heavy tome called _Mythology and Legends of Great Snakes_ under her arm. She flipped through the index and quickly found something that obviously caught her interest. She read through it before turning to the two boys, obviously happy with the revealed information.

"Here it is:

_Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken's egg hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it."_

Hermione ended the passage, and looked up with a raised eyebrow at Harry and Theo.

"Spiders flee before it, which explains why Aragog wouldn't speak its name," Theo reasoned.

"And it also explains why Hagrid's roosters were killed," added Harry.

"Who's Aragog?" asked Hermione, confused.

Theo explained the events leading up to Aragog, what Aragog was and what he revealed to them, and how they had discovered how Moaning Myrtle had been killed.

Hermione bit her lip. "It says they can grow to be massive in size, so how is that thing getting around?"

Harry looked around the library, desperate for anything that would give him an answer. He had heard the voice through the walls. . . .

"Does Hogwarts have pipes?"

"Of course Hogwarts has pipes, how else does the water get everywhere?" Hermione said with a frown of confusion.

"Yes, but Hogwarts is a castle," Theo said slowly, beginning to warm up to the idea. "It doesn't have normal pipes, it would have huge pipes, and Harry's been hearing the voice in the wall, which seemed to have traveled from floor to floor instantly. . . ."

"Okay, so let's say he does travel through the pipes. Where's the entrance?" Hermione piped up. "Wait. . . . What if the entrance is in a bathroom? What if it's in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?"

The moment their discovery was made, Harry suddenly felt a surge of heat burst through his robe pocket and seem to engulf his body. He hastily reached into the pocket and pulled out the dagger.

The emerald on the hilt was pulsing with light and heat.

Blaise was in trouble.

**oOoOo**

The walk (run, actually) to the deserted staff room took no time at all, and it wasn't long before they were pacing in the large office-like room, Hermione biting on her thumbnail with every step. Harry was mumbling to himself, and Theo was whistling—just to add entertainment, you know.

But the bell to signal break never came.

Instead, Professor Flitwick's squeaky voice echoed through the corridors, magically magnified.

_"All students are to return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staff room. Immediately, please."_

The three stopped in their pacing and Hermione shrieked, "Not another attack? Not now?"

"Do we go back to the dormitory?"

"No," said Harry, glancing around. There was an ugly sort of wardrobe on his left, presumably holding teachers' cloaks. "In here. Let's hear what it's all about. Then we can tell them what we've found out."

They hid themselves inside, all three of them barely fitting, listening to the hundreds of feet passing overhead and the staff room door banging open every now and then. The room was silent until Professor Flitwick arrived.

"It has happened. Students have been taken by the monster. Right into the Chamber itself," Flitwick squeaked; after his declaration Sprout clapped her hand over her mouth.

Snape squeezed the arm of his chair scarily tight, and asked, "How can you be sure?"

"The Heir of Slytherin," said Flitwick, who was very white, "left another message. Right underneath the first one. _'Their skeletons will lie in the Chamber forever.'_"

Professor Flitwick burst into tears at this part, and Snape was now an even more sickly shade of yellow.

"Who? Which students?"

"Blaise Zabini and Ginny Weasley. Miss Zabini disappeared from the hospital wing before dinner, around the same time we think Miss Weasley disappeared."

The three students hidden in the wardrobe stifled gasps, and Harry felt tears prickle at his eyes.

"We shall have to send all the students home tomorrow," Professor Sprout cried, distraught. "This is the end of Hogwarts. Dumbledore always said. . . ."

The staffroom door banged open with a dramatic flair, but it was only Lockhart, and he was beaming.

"So sorry—dozed off for a moment there—what have I missed?"

He didn't notice that most of the professors were looking at him with what seemed remarkably like hatred. Snape stepped forward.

"Just the man we were hoping for. Two girls have been taken by the monster, Lockhart, into the Chamber itself. Your moment has come at last."

Lockhart blanched and stepped back, hitting his back on the wall.

"That's right, Gilderoy," Sprout chipped in. "Didn't you mention just last night that you've known all along where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is?"

"Yes, didn't you tell me you were absolutely certain you knew what was inside it?" Flitwick chimed in.

"I—well, I don't—recall—"

"I surely remember you were saying you were sorry you hadn't had a crack at the monster before Hagrid was arrested," said Snape silkily. "Didn't you say that the whole affair had been bungled, and that you should have been given a free rein from the start?"

"I—I really never—you must have misunderstood—" Lockhart stumbled, staring around at his stony-faced colleagues.

"We'll leave it to you, then, Gilderoy," Professor Sinistra practically ordered, ice practically oozing from her pores. "Tonight will be an excellent time to do it. We'll make sure everyone's out of your way. You'll be able to tackle the monster all by yourself—free rein at last." Sinistra added a sinister smile at the end to convey her instructions.

Lockhart gazed desperately at each of his colleagues, but none came to his rescue. "V-very well. I'll—I'll be in my office, getting—getting ready."

He left the room.

"And so the drama queen finally makes his escape," Snape narrated with a sneer.

"Well," Flitwick said with a squeak, "the Heads of Houses should go and inform their students what has happened. Tell them the Hogwarts Express will take them home first thing tomorrow. Will the rest of you please make sure no students have been left outside their dormitories?"

With nods indicating that they would, the teachers rose and left, not one word said.

"So, do we go back now?" Hermione asked timidly.

"I don't think so," Theo said quickly. "We've got this far and I'm not going back now."

"My sentiments exactly, Theo." Harry made a quick decision and then told his two friends, "Hermione, you go get Professor Lockhart, tell him we know where the entrance is; Theo, you come with me."

"Where are we going?"

"To see Moaning Myrtle! Where else?"

**oOoOo**

It didn't take long to get to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and they surprisingly met no teachers on their way there. Harry put it down to luck; Theo just thanked God.

Moaning Myrtle was sitting on the tank of the end toilet.

"Oh, it's you," she said when they entered and she saw Harry. "You're friends with that _girl_. What do you want?"

"To ask . . . how you died," Harry said bluntly.

Myrtle's whole aspect completely changed with that one question. She looked as though she had never been so flattered.

"Ooh, it was dreadful," she said, obviously relishing the moment. "It happened right in here. I died in this very stall. I remember it so well. I'd hidden because Olive Hornby was teasing me about my glasses. The door was locked, and I was crying, and then I heard somebody come in. They said something funny—a different language, I think, and then it hit me that it was a _boy_ speaking. So I unlocked the door to tell him to go and use his own toilet, and then—" Myrtle swelled importantly, "I _died_."

"How?"

"No idea," said Myrtle in hushed tones. "I just remember seeing a pair of great, big, yellow eyes. My whole body sort of seized up, and then I was floating away. . . ." She looked dreamily at Harry. "And then I came back again. I was determined to haunt Olive Hornby, you see. Oh, she was sorry she'd ever laughed at my glasses." The last part was said with a smug grin.

"Where exactly did you see the eyes?" Theo asked in an interview sort of voice.

"Somewhere there," said Myrtle, gesturing vaguely toward the sink in front of her toilet.

Harry and Theo hurried over to examine it, and they examined it quite thoroughly. Nothing was found until Harry felt along the copper taps—scratched on the side of one was a tiny snake.

"That tap's never worked," Myrtle said brightly as Theo tried to turn it.

"Potter, say something to it. Something in Parseltongue," said Theo, still not able to turn the tap.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, but turned toward the engraving anyway and casually said, "Open up."

He looked at Theo, who shook his head.

"English."

Harry looked back at the snake, trying to envision that it was Sneak, and tried again. _"Open up."_

A strange hissing escaped him and the tap glowed a brilliant white before it began spinning. In the next second, the sink was moving and out of sight, leaving a large pipe exposed, a pipe wide enough for a man to slide into.

"I'm going down there," Harry said without any hesitation.

"Well, I'm going, too!"

"Yeah, but before we go we have to wait on Hermione."

They didn't have to wait long.

**oOoOo**

Hermione was astonished that she managed to walk up to the third floor where Lockhart's office was located without seeing a single teacher, when they were supposedly out looking for students out of their dormitories.

Hermione was a determined girl when she wanted to be, and there was absolutely no time to spare (after all, two of her friends were in danger), so she simply entered the office without knocking.

And then stopped in shock.

The office had been almost completely stripped. Two large trunks stood open on the floor, one brimming with robes in all sorts of pastels that had been hastily folded into it, the other overflowing with books in no sort of order. The photographs that had practically been procreating on the walls were crammed into boxes on the desk.

And Lockhart was staring at her like a proverbial deer caught in the headlights.

"And just where the bloody hell could you possibly think that you're going?" Hermione said in a dangerous hiss, nostrils flaring.

"Er, well, yes," Lockhart stuttered, ripping a life-size poster of himself from the back of the door as he spoke and starting to roll it up. "Urgent call—unavoidable—got to go—"

"And what about those two poor girls that are stuck in some dreadful Chamber right now, waiting desperately for someone—_anyone_—to come get them?" Hermione said this very slowly to make sure the man would understand.

"Well, as to that—it's most unfortunate, and believe me, no one—regrets it more than I."

"You're the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!" shrieked Hermione. "You can't go now!"

"Well, I must say—when I took the job—there was nothing in the job description—"

"You're running away? After all that stuff you did in your books?"

Lockhart shifted nervously. "Books can be misleading."

"You're the one who bloody well wrote them!"

"My dear girl, do use your common sense. My books wouldn't have sold half as well if people didn't think I'd done all those things. No one wants to read about some ugly old Armenian warlock, even if he did save a village from werewolves. He'd look dreadful on the front cover. No dress sense at all. And the witch who banished the Bandon Banshee had a harelip. I mean, come on—"

"So you've just been taking credit for what a load of other people has done?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Dear Hermione, isn't not nearly as simple as that." Lockhart shook his head impatiently. "There was work involved. I had to track these people down. I asked them exactly how they had managed to do what they did, and then put a Memory Charm on them so they wouldn't remember doing it."

He banged the lids of his trunks shut and locked them.

"Let's see," he said, looking around the office. "I think that's everything. Only one thing left."

He pulled out his wand and turned to Hermione.

"Awfully sorry, but I'll have to put a Memory Charm on you now. Can't have you blabbing my secrets all over the place, can I?"

Hermione was literally shaking with anger. "Oh, don't think you're going anywhere. . . ." Just as Lockhart was preparing to say the charm, Hermione whipped out her wand and shouted, "_Expelliarmus!_"

Lockhart was blasted backward, falling over his trunk, and his wand flew in a graceful ark. Hermione caught it easily and turned to glare at the ignoramus.

"Guess what?" she said perkily with a bright smile on her face as Lockhart stood unsteadily to his feet. When he didn't answer, she continued anyway, "I know exactly where the Chamber is, and you're coming with me."

**oOoOo**

There was instant silence in the stilted conversation taking place between Harry, Theo, and Myrtle when Hermione entered the bathroom holding Lockhart at wand-point.

"Um, 'Mione . . ." Theo began, his eyes riveting from Hermione to Lockhart and back again.

"Why do you have him at wand-point?" Harry asked, everlastingly blunt.

"As it turns out, he hasn't done any of the things he mentions in his books, and has been using Memory Charms to get away with it. He tried to modify my own memory and I thought a fitting punishment would be making him come with us," Hermione answered with a noticeably sadistic smirk.

"I knew he didn't do any of that!" Harry said, glaring at Lockhart in satisfaction.

"Is that it?" Hermione asked, pointing at the large pipe where the sink used to be with the hand that wasn't currently digging Lockhart's wand into his own neck.

"Yep."

"Guess what, Professor Lockhart?" Hermione said with a know-it-all Class Brain grin. "You get to go first."

"I really don't think you'll be needing me—"

Hermione gave him a strong shove, and he stumbled before falling into the pipe. The three students gave no reaction at hearing his startled screams.

When they could no longer hear the man, Harry took the lead and went down first, followed by Theo, who was followed by Hermione.

It was like rushing down an endless, slimy, dark slide. Minor pipes were branching out in all directions as he flew by, but none was as large as this one, which turned and curved while sloping steeply downward. That was, before the pipe leveled out and he shot out of the end with a wet thud, landing on the damp floor of a dark stone tunnel large enough for a very tall man to stand in.

Lockhart was standing a little ways away, covered in slime and very white, which reminded Harry that he should get out of the way.

And just in time, too. Theo slid out and quickly got to his feet before grabbing onto Harry dizzily as Hermione shot out.

**oOoOo**

At ten o'clock that evening, the teachers met up in the staffroom yet again, Flitwick taking command.

According to Professor Sprout, none were missing from the Hufflepuff dorms and they had all gone to their beds earlier.

According to Professor Flitwick, none were missing from the Ravenclaw tower, but, instead of going to bed, they were researching where the Chamber could be.

Sinistra, who had checked the Gryffindor tower, stood next. "One was missing—Hermione Granger. None reported seeing her after dinner, but Mr. Ronald Weasley did say that she said she was heading for the library. I talked to Madam Pince, and she said that she remembered seeing Miss Granger leaving the library with Mr. Potter and Mr. Nott at around seven thirty this evening."

Sinistra stood down and Snape stood up.

"Aside from the two girls who were taken into the Chamber," he said with a frown, "Mr. Potter and Mr. Nott are both missing, and none know where they went. This information coincides with what Selene just revealed."

"Well," Professor Sprout understated, "that is quite distressing."

**oOoOo**

"We must be miles under the school," Theo said, looking around as his voice echoed and bounced off the walls.

"Under the lake, probably," said Harry, wiping his hands off on sticky robes. He shuddered slightly before taking them off, leaving the mostly clean uniform on underneath. Theo and Hermione followed his lead and dumped the robes in a pile on the floor.

The three students and one soon-to-be former professor made their way down the tunnel, wands lighted so they could see ahead of them in the faint light. It was a steady formation with Harry in front and Theo behind him; Hermione was in the back keeping a wand on Lockhart at all times, who was behind Theo. Harry led the way forward cautiously, and stopped when they rounded a dark bend in the tunnel.

"There's something up there. . . ." Harry said hoarsely, backing up to stand next to Theo.

The four froze, watching. Harry could just make out the outline of something huge and curved, lying right across the tunnel. It wasn't moving.

Very slowly, Harry began to edge forward, his wand held high.

As it turned out, they needn't have worried, as it was only the confirmation of a snake—a snakeskin. It was a vivid, poisonous green, curled and empty across the tunnel floor. It must have been nearly twenty feet long.

"Damn," Theo murmured shakily.

There was a sudden movement behind them. Lockhart's knees had given way.

"Oh, get up," Hermione said sharply, pointing her wand at Lockhart.

Lockhart got to his feet—then dived at Hermione, knocking the girl to the ground.

Harry and Theo jumped forward, but it was too late. Lockhart was straightening up, panting, having successfully gotten his wand back from Hermione, a gleaming smile on his face.

"The adventure ends here, gentlemen and . . . lady," he said, ending with a slight grimace as he gazed at Hermione, who was slowly getting to her feet. "I shall take a bit of this skin back up to the school, tell them I was too late to save the girls, and that you three _tragically_ lost your minds at the sight of their mangled bodies—say goodbye to your memories!"

Harry had a short sickening vision of Blaise's body, twisted at all angles and staring up at him with glassy eyes that lacked the fire she had had while living before Lockhart raised the wand high in the air and yelled, "_Obliviate!_"

Mere milliseconds later Hermione rushed to Lockhart and tackled him to the ground, the wand knocked out of his grasp and the spell ricocheting throughout the tunnel. Harry flung his arms over his head and ran, out of the way of great chunks of tunnel ceiling that were thundering to the floor with the force of the spell. Next moment, he was standing alone, gazing at a solid wall of broken rock.

"Theo! Hermione!" he shouted. "Are you two okay?"

"We're fine!" Hermione's voice echoed from the other side. "We're both okay, not a scrape on us—but I think this egomaniac hit his head on something—"

There was a dull thud and a loud "Ow! What'd you do that for?" It sounded as if Hermione had just kicked Lockhart in the shins.

"Hermione? Did you just hit the poor guy?" Harry yelled through the rock.

There was a pause and than a much-too-innocent, "No, of course not!"

"What now, Potter?" he heard Theo shout desperately. "We can't get through, and even if we did it would take ages. . . ."

There was a thud and another "Ow!" from behind the rocks.

"We're wasting time," he called to Theo and Hermione. "Wait with Lockhart. I'll go on, but if I'm not back in an hour. . . ."

There was a very pregnant pause before Hermione answered. "We're going to try and shift some of this rock so you can get back through, okay?"

"Yeah, alright. See you in a bit." Harry tried to inject confidence into his voice, but it didn't work—he was still shaking.

He set off past the giant snakeskin alone, and soon the distant noise of Theo struggling to move some of the rock and Hermione blathering on about how she knew absolutely no spells that would move the rock without collapsing the entire tunnel had faded. The tunnel turned and turned again, and all Harry wanted was for it to end, yet he was dreading what he would find when (and if) it finally did. And then, after what seemed to him like hours, he saw a solid wall on which two entwined serpents were carved, their eyes set with great, glinting, malicious-looking emeralds.

Harry approached, his throat very dry. There was something very real about these snakes, as the eyes seemed to be taking him in and assessing him.

In a faint, low hiss Harry said, _"Open."_

The serpents parted as the wall cracked open, the halves slid smoothly out of sight, and Harry was left staring at huge hall done in black marble, from what he could tell, yet it was pitch-black.

This was it.

He was shaking from head to foot, but a deep breath seemed to slowly melt away a bit of his fear. He stepped inside, and as he did, light seemed to appear from towering stone pillars entwined with more carved serpents whose eyes were also glinting with emeralds. Harry couldn't see the ceiling, but imagined it must go on forever, as he never saw the pillars end.

Where were Ginny and Blaise?

He pulled out his wand and moved forward, deeper into the chamber. Every light step cast an echoing thud through the dead quiet. Then, as he drew level with the last pair of pillars, a statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall.

Harry had to crane his neck to see the giant face towering above him. It was ancient and monkey-ish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous stone grey feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor.

"Must've been quite fond of himself," Harry muttered before looking down farther, where two small, black-robed figures lay facedown.

"Oh, my God!" Harry half-yelled, half-whispered, sprinting to them and dropping to his knees. "Don't be dead, please don't be dead—"

He flung his wand aside before grabbing Blaise's shoulders and turning her over, paling at seeing her white face and feeling her cold skin, yet her eyes were closed in an imitation of peace.

"Blaise, please wake up," Harry whispered desperately before turning Ginny over as well to see her in the same shape.

"They won't wake," a soft voice said from behind him.

Harry jumped and spun around on his knees to see a tall, black-haired boy leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though someone had taken him from a photo and frayed the ends.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, not taking his eyes from the boy as he moved slightly closer.

"Tom Riddle."

"What d'you mean, they won't wake?" asked Harry, desperate.

"They're still alive, but only just."

Harry stared at him, frowning, wondering what right that strange boy had to be here. He was barely sixteen, wearing Slytherin robes, and had on a Head Boy badge. Yet he wasn't Head Boy, because the Head Boy had just been Petrified, and Harry would have seen him in the common room in the two years he'd been at Hogwarts. . . .

"Are you some sort of ghost?" Harry said uncertainly.

"Not precisely," Riddle said in the same soft voice he had used earlier. "I'm a memory—preserved in a diary for fifty years."

He pointed toward the floor near where Blaise and Ginny were laying, unconscious. Lying open was a little black book, like the sort Blaise had said she had found in Moaning Myrtle's stall. . . . Someone had thrown it at her. . . .

He looked up to see Riddle was still watching him, while twirling Harry's forgotten wand between his fingers.

Harry stared at him, sizing him up. Harry wasn't as naïve as many people thought he was, and he didn't think for a moment that Riddle had nothing to do with this. There was something very peculiar going on here. . . .

"Oh, this?" Riddle asked, seeing where Harry was looking. Harry's gaze shot up to Riddle's face, where he could see a vicious smile forming. "You won't be needing it."

Harry frowned, but Riddle's smile only broadened.

"You see, I've been waiting a long time for this, Harry Potter. For the chance to see you. To speak to you. And have no doubts about it, we will speak now."

"How do you know my name?"

"Doesn't everyone?" Riddle said sarcastically.

Harry stared at him, then thought of something else, something more important, than asking Riddle how he knew his name.

"How did they get to be like this?" he asked slowly.

"An interesting question," Riddle said pleasantly. "And quite a long story, though I suppose I should start at the beginning. The real reason why Ginny Weasley's like this is because she opened her heart and spilled all her secrets to an invisible stranger."

"What do you mean?"

"The diary. _My_ diary. Little Ginny wrote in it for months and months, telling me all her pitiful worries and woes—how her brothers _tease_ her, how she had to come to school with secondhand robes and books, how she never thought she would be friends with Harry Potter. . . ."

Riddle's eyes never left Harry's as he spoke; there was an almost hungry look in them.

"It's very _boring_, having to listen to the silly troubles of an eleven-year-old girl," he went on. "But I was patient. I wrote back—sympathetic, kind. Ginny simply _loved_ me. _No one's ever understood me like you, Tom. . . . I'm so glad I've got this diary to confide in. . . . It's like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket. . . ._"

Riddle laughed, a high, cold laugh that didn't suit him in the least, and it made the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stand up in warning.

"If I say it myself, Harry, I've always been able to charm the people I needed. Ginny poured out her soul to me, and her soul was exactly what I needed. I grew stronger on her deepest fears and darkest secrets. I grew powerful, more powerful than little Miss Weasley could ever hope to be. . . . Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of _my_ secrets, to start pouring a little of _my_ soul back into _her_. . . ."

Harry's mouth had gone very dry, yet Riddle went on.

"Ginny Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets. She strangled the school roosters and daubed threatening messages on the walls. She set the Serpent of Slytherin on three Mudbloods, a half-blood, and a Squib."

"No," Harry whispered; he couldn't believe it, yet it was impossible not to.

"Yes," said Riddle, strangely calm. "Of course, she didn't know what she was doing at first. It was very amusing. I wish you could have seen her new diary entries . . . far more interesting, they became. . . . _Dear Tom_," he recited, watching Harry's horrified face, "_I think I'm losing my memory. There are rooster feathers all over my robes and I don't know how they got there. Dear Tom, I can't remember what I did on the night of Halloween, but our caretaker was attacked and I've got paint down my front. Dear Tom, Percy keeps telling me I'm pale and I'm not myself. I think he suspects me. . . . There was another attack and I don't know where I was. Tom, what am I going to do? I think I'm going mad. . . . I think I'm the one attacking everyone, Tom!_"

Harry's fists were clenched as he glared at the mocking boy in front of him.

"It took a very long time for stupid little Ginny to stop trusting her diary," Riddle continued. "But she finally became suspicious and tried to dispose of it. And that's about where you come in, Harry. Your best friend found it, and I couldn't have been more delighted. This was a person who knew all your secrets, all your fears, and all your deepest desires." Riddle stopped abruptly and pursed his lips. "Unfortunately we never got that far. I knew it would work far less quickly on young Miss Zabini, so I took a shortcut. It wasn't easy, I assure you, to invade her mind, to perish her thoughts, to possess her entirely. . . . She has a very strong, unwavering mind, but when I was able to get her make Morgyanna Petrify the Head Boy and Girl, I knew she was ready. There was no time to waste, after all. . . ."

Harry's eyes were now wide and glaring scathingly at Riddle, who seemed unaffected.

"Why did you want to meet me?" said Harry. Anger was coursing through his body, yet he managed to keep his voice neutral.

"Well, you see, Harry, Ginny told me all about your _fascinating_ history." His eyes roved over the lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead, and for a moment Harry was sure he could see red in Riddle's jade green eyes. "I knew I must find out more about you, talk to you, meet you if I could. It is really quite fortunate for me that you showed up here tonight.

"You see, many months ago I realized that killing Mudbloods didn't matter to me anymore. After all, what was a Mudblood compared to my new, more fascinating prey? From then on, my new target has been—_you_."

Harry gazed at the other boy, whose hungry gaze hadn't faltered the slightest bit.

"I was quite surprised when I found it was your best friend who opened the diary's pages in search for something to confide in, but I quickly realized that if I managed to take Miss Zabini, then I would have an amazing bit of bait in getting you down here.

"So I made Blaise get Ginny—Blaise was, by then, fully under my control, and it wasn't hard to get Ginny under it at the same time, as she was much more broken in than my new toy. I made Blaise write their farewell on the wall and come down here to wait. Of course, by then, they were both teary-eyed, struggling, and screaming, and _very_ boring. There isn't much life left in either of them, I'm afraid. But anyway, I have been waiting for you to appear since we arrived here. I have many questions for you, Harry Potter."

"What is it you want to know first?" Harry spat sarcastically, fists still clenched and nails digging half-moons into his palms.

"Well," said Riddle with a smile that would be pleasant if Harry hadn't just heard what he'd just heard, "how is it that _you_—a skinny boy with no extraordinary magical talent—managed to defeat the greatest wizard of all time? How did you escape with nothing but a scar, while Lord Voldemort's powers were destroyed?"

_Okay_, this guy was really creeping him out now if he hadn't before.

"Why do you care how I escaped?" asked Harry slowly.

"Voldemort is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter. . . ."

He pulled Harry's wand from his pocket and began quickly tracing three words in the air:

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

He waved the wand once and suddenly the letters were rearranging themselves:

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

"You see?" he whispered. "It was a name I was already using at Hogwarts; to my most intimate friends only, of course. You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father's name forever? I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, through my mother's side? I, keep the name of a foul, common Muggle, who abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his wife was a witch? No, Harry—I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!"

Harry's brain seemed to have jammed, and for some odd reason, the brave, serious side had left the building in order to give reign to his blunter, humorous self.

"Excuse me?" Harry retorted, giving Riddle an incredulous look. "You actually think that by giving yourself a name 'wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak,' you could be the greatest sorcerer in the world?"

Riddle glared at him, the red in his eyes now more prominent.

"Well, let me tell you something: As long as you're going out of your way to kill people, just because they have non-magical blood flowing through their veins, you will never be the greatest sorcerer in the world. Why? Because that honor goes to Albus Dumbledore, who, might I add by the look on your face, scares the living daylights out of you. Now, unless you've got something else to say, crawl back into your hidey-hole and die!"

Riddle's smile had been replaced by an ugly look, and he pointed Harry's wand at the other boy. "Alright then, to business. Twice—in your past, in my future—we have met. And twice I have failed to kill you. _How did you survive?_ Tell me everything. The longer you talk, the longer I might let you live."

Harry was thinking fast, weighing his chances against his stolen wand and the dagger he had in his pocket. Even if he did attack him with it, Riddle wasn't fully corporeal, and who's to say it wouldn't go right through him? Besides, for some reason Harry knew Riddle would be faster with a quick curse that would end everything. In the meantime, he noticed that Riddle's outline already seemed slightly clearer as life trickled out of Ginny and Blaise. This bastard was stalling him!

"No one knows why you lost your powers when you attacked me," Harry said abruptly. "I don't know myself. But I do know why you couldn't kill me. Because my mother died to save me. My common, Mudblood mother. She stopped you killing me. And I've seen the real you, I saw you last year. You're a wreck—barely alive. That's where all your power got you. You're in hiding. You're ugly, and foul—"

Riddle's face contorted before forcing it into an awful smile.

"So your mother died to save you. Yes, that's a powerful counter-charm. I can see now . . . there is nothing special about you, after all. I wondered, you see. There are strange likenesses between us—even you must have noticed. Both half-bloods, orphans, raised in dreadful Muggle orphanages—you're even in Slytherin, like me. We even _look_ something alike . . . but after all, it was merely a lucky chance that saved you from me. That's all I wanted to know."

Harry stood, tense, but Riddle's smile was widening yet again.

"Now, Harry, I'm going to teach you a little lesson. Let's match the powers of Lord Voldemort, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, against famous Harry Potter. . . ."

Riddle opened his mouth wide and hissed, but Harry could understand what he was saying. . . .

_"Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four."_

Harry gazed up at the statue, where Slytherin's gigantic stone face was moving. Horrorstruck, Harry saw his mouth opening, wider and wider, to make a huge black hole.

And something was stirring inside—something was slithering up from its depths.

Harry desperately screwed his eyes shut as something huge hit the stone floor of the Chamber. Harry felt it shudder—he knew what was happening, could sense it, could almost see the giant serpent uncoiled itself from Slytherin's mouth. Then he heard Riddle hiss:

_"Kill him."_

The basilisk was moving toward Harry, its heavy body slithering heavily across the dusty floor. He fell on his back and tasted blood, and knew that any minute now he'd be basilisk brunch.

But it never happened.

Instead, there was a surge of power that welled inside him, and before Harry could react it had hurtled from his body. Harry couldn't resist it, he had to know—he opened his eyes. And there was the basilisk, thrashing from side to side as some invisible force knocked into it again and again. Its skin was a bright, poisonous green, thick as an oak trunk, and its blunt head was weaving drunkenly between the pillars. Before Harry had any time to respond, the basilisk had looked down at him, and Harry could see its eyes had been gauged out.

"Thank you, magic," Harry murmured before he heard Riddle scream.

_"NO! THE BOY IS BEHIND YOU! YOU CAN STILL S__MEL__L HIM! KILL HIM!"_

The blinded serpent swayed—still confused, but still deadly. The snake was shakily getting closer to him, his tail whipping across the floor in a desperate attempt to keep himself steady.

Oh, damn! He was going to die! It was time to resort to drastic measures; he didn't know if it would work or not. . . .

_"Stop!__ Don't come one more step near me or I'll rip out your fangs next!"_ Harry hissed.

Um, that didn't work—the basilisk was still coming toward him. . . . Oh, well, he still had Plan B! It was quite ingenious if he did say so himself. . . .

"HELP!" he screamed in English at the top of his lungs, shutting his eyes and putting his hands over his ears in a desperate attempt to get away.

It probably helped that he covered his ears, because in the next moment there was an extremely loud BANG and the entire Chamber began to smell like smoke.

Harry opened his eyes and looked up, his eyes then going wide.

The basilisk had caught on fire, and it was screaming raggedly as the flames ravaged his body. And before Harry had time to blink, the basilisk had completely disappeared, the only thing left of its body being ashes.

Harry glanced up at Riddle, who had turned away from the two unconscious girls, choosing instead to send hateful glares at Harry.

And that was when he noticed it—Riddle, sometime during Harry's fight with the basilisk, had become fully corporeal. He didn't know if Riddle had noticed or not, but Harry gazed at Ginny, who was still unconscious, and then at Blaise—who was staring right back at him.

Riddle noticed moments after Harry as he felt along his body, looking quite pleased with himself. He sent a victorious smirk at Harry, who was having a silent conversation with Blaise.

"You see, Potter. I will always win, and your friends are dead."

Harry was desperate for something—anything—that would get rid of this monster. Blaise didn't have a clue what was going on, but she did take a moment to feel for Ginny's pulse. There wasn't one.

When she shook her head at Harry in answer, he bit on his bottom lip, choosing instead to ignore Riddle, who was going on and on about ruling the world. His hand strayed to his pocket, where the dagger Blaise had gotten him for his birthday was kept. Harry didn't know how he was going to do it, but somehow he had to get the dagger to Blaise.

He tightened his hold on the handle, making sure Riddle was still blathering about his victory, and in the next moment, the dagger had disappeared from his pocket.

Harry's eyes widened as he looked back up at Blaise, who had picked up the dagger that had appeared on the stone floor in front of her. A determined look crossed her features as she gripped the handle before saying, "Oh, shut up, already."

Riddle spun around and cast his glare at Blaise, who was smirking at him. "You're alive?" he whispered incredulously.

"What does it look like?" answered Blaise sarcastically.

Riddle turned back toward Harry, who was watching him with a smug grin. Riddle's face turned into an ugly mask, and he began stalking towards Harry, raising the stolen wand furiously. He was nearly five feet away when Blaise pounced—literally, pounced—on top of him.

To Blaise the goal was simple: Get rid of Riddle. She jumped onto his back as if he was about to give her a piggy-back ride, and in the next moment Harry's dagger was buried into his chest.

Riddle coughed and sputtered, words failing him as he choked on what must have been blood. Blaise got off his back just before he fell to the ground and pulled the dagger from his chest.

It was a horrible sight to watch—to see someone die—even if that person had just killed one of your friends and was only a memory of what would one day be the most terrifying Dark Lord in years. One moment he was taking yet another shuddering breath as blood pooled on his robes, and in the next his chest was still.

Blaise collapsed to the ground beside him, great sobs racking her body as she rocked back and forth. Harry had never seen his friend looking so vulnerable, but he did the only thing he could: He knelt down and held her.

Blaise's hands came to fist in his shirt as she attempted to wash the fabric with her tears. In a few moments the sobs had resided, but she was clinging to him worse than ever.

"It's alright," Harry said, rocking his friend gently. "It's gonna be alright."

Blaise released her hold on him to wipe at her eyes before saying, "I think—I think Ginny would like it if—if we take her body back."

"I think she'd like that, too," whispered Harry, standing up before helping Blaise up and letting her lean against him. He couldn't possibly support both girls, but a simple _Wingardium Leviosa_ was levitating Ginny gently ahead of them.

After a few minutes' progress up the dark tunnel, a distant sound of slowly shifting rock reached Harry's ears. They turned the next bend to see Theo and Hermione staring out eagerly through a sizeable gap they had managed to make in the rock fall.

At seeing Ginny their faces fell.

"Oh, no," Hermione whimpered, covering her mouth.

"Is she—" stuttered Theo, not able to finish the sentence.

Harry nodded, and it was a dreary reunion as they hoisted Ginny through the gap, followed by Blaise and Harry. They slowly began walking back to the pipe that had led them down here.

"I'll explain when we get out of here," Harry said at seeing the inquisitive looks on Hermione's and Theo's faces, casting a sideways glance at Blaise, who was now staring confusedly at Lockhart.

"What happened to him?" she asked quietly.

Lockhart was sitting there, humming placidly to himself as he twiddled his thumbs.

"His memory's gone," answered Theo. "The Memory Charm ricocheted around the tunnel before finally hitting him, with enough force to knock him back. He hasn't got a clue who he is, or where he is, or who we are. I told him to come and wait here."

Harry bent down and looked up the long, dark pipe.

"Have you thought about how we're going to get back up this?" he said to Theo and Hermione.

Hermione shook her head, but Blaise handed him his dagger, which had been wiped free of blood. Harry gazed up at her, confused.

"If you will it, it will happen. Nothing is impossible."

He took the dagger and took command. "Everyone, form a line and take a hold of the person in front of you. I'll hold on to Ginny, but someone else is going to have to hold onto her, too."

Harry grabbed onto Ginny's wrist, and Theo took hold of her leg, leaving Blaise to hold onto Theo and Hermione to hold onto her. Lockhart came at the end.

Harry took a deep breath and, deciding to conduct a little experiment, said in Parseltongue, _'Please take us back up to the castle.'_

An extraordinary light seemed to spread through his whole body, and then they were flying upward through the pipe. Chill air was whipping through Harry's hair, and before he'd stopped enjoying the ride, it was over. All six of them fell to the wet floor of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, and as Lockhart straightened his hat, the sink that hid the pipe was sliding back into place.

Myrtle goggled at them.

"You're alive," she said blankly to Harry.

"There's no need to sound so disappointed, Myrtle," he said with a grimace, whipping muck from his glasses.

"Oh, well . . . I'd just been thinking . . . if you had died, you'd have been welcome to share my toilet," said Myrtle, blushing quicksilver.

Myrtle's words brought a bit of a smile to Blaise's face as Theo nudged her and said, "You've got competition, Blaise!"

A quiet walk through the castle brought them to the Headmaster's office, where Harry quickly guessed the password.

Theo knocked and pushed the door open.

It was time to face the symphony.

**oOoOo**

**_Authoress's Note:_ **I'm guessing (correctly) that the reason why I got so few reviews for the last chapter was because Deathly Hallows came out? I admit that this was finished before it came out, but it's only coming out now because of rain and temporary loss of my Internet connection.

I hope to see some reviews when everyone's finished their fair share of reading and crying. (Because, even though the ending is quite happy, it was also quite sad for a few chapters.)

Happy reading!


	16. Epilogue: Nothing is Impossible

**Chapter Sixteen: Nothing is Impossible**

There was a moment of silence when they entered that must have had something to do with Ginny's Levitated figure. All the Weasleys were waiting in Dumbledore's office, it seemed, and there were even two unfamiliar red-headed people that must have been Bill and Charlie, Ginny's two oldest brothers. Also gathered in the office were Professor Dumbledore and the rest of the staff.

Mrs. Weasley appeared to have been crying, and as they walked in, she ran over to her daughter and shrieked in visible anguish, "_Ginny!_"

But Harry was looking past the distraught woman, the shaking family, and to Dumbledore, who was standing by the mantelpiece, no twinkle visible in his eyes.

Harry didn't need to be told; he knew what he had to do. It took awhile to recount the tale, with interruptions made by Theo and Hermione, and occasionally even Blaise. He told about hearing the disembodied voice, how they had finally realized he was hearing a basilisk in the pipes, how he and Theo had followed the spiders into the forest and what Aragog had told them, and ending with how he guessed that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"But how did you get out alive when Ginny is dead?" Mrs. Weasley screamed.

Harry had never been so thankful that Blaise had taken over the explanation at that moment, describing how she had woken up and listened to Harry talking to Riddle, then the fight with the basilisk, describing how Harry had somehow transported his dagger to her so she could sneak up behind Riddle and finish him off.

"What interests _me_ most," said Dumbledore gently, "is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny and Blaise, when my sources tell me he is currently hiding in the forests of Albania."

"Wh-what's that?" Mr. Weasley said in a stunned voice. "_You-Know-Who_? En-enchant _Ginny_? But Ginny's not . . . Ginny hasn't been . . . has she?"

"It was this diary," said Blaise quietly, handing over the pieces of what had once been the little black book Harry had seen on the Chamber floor. At his questioning look, she said, "I picked it up and ripped it before we left."

Dumbledore took the diary from Blaise and peered keenly down at its ripped, yet pristine, pages.

"Brilliant," he said softly. "Of course, he was probably the most brilliant student Hogwarts has ever seen." He turned around to the Weasleys, who were looking utterly bewildered.

"Very few people know that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. I taught him myself—fifty years ago—at Hogwarts. He disappeared after leaving the school . . . traveled far and wide . . . sank so deeply into the Dark Arts, consorted with the very worst of our kind, underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, that when he resurfaced as Lord Voldemort, he was barely recognizable. Hardly anyone connected Lord Voldemort with the clever, handsome boy who was once Head Boy here."

"But Ginny—what did she have to do with him?" Mrs. Weasley sobbed.

Blaise answered, "She wrote in it. He would write back. You could tell him all of your deepest, darkest secrets, greatest desires, who was picking on you and when—and he would be sympathetic, he was kind. And eventually you sank so deeply in, poured so much of your soul into him, that you couldn't fight him back. He had complete control over you, and you never knew."

"Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain," Mr. Weasley whispered.

"I think Miss Zabini should go to the hospital wing. There will, of course, be a funeral service for Miss Weasley up at the school, but you can have your own. This has been a terrible ordeal for the both of them." When Blaise gave him a questioning look, he said, "There will be no punishment. Older and wiser witches have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort.

"Never fear, Miss Granger, you and Mr. Potter and Mr. Nott are not to be punished, either. In fact, I think it would be prudent if each of you receive Special Awards for Services to the School and—let me see—yes, I think one-hundred-and-fifty points apiece for Slytherin and Gryffindor.

"But one of us seems to be keeping mightily quiet about his part in this dangerous adventure. Why so modest, Gilderoy?"

"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said quickly. "There was an accident down in the Chamber. Lockhart cast a Memory Charm on himself."

"Dear me," said Dumbledore, shaking his head, his long silver moustache quivering. "Impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy!"

"Sword?" said Lockhart dimly. "Haven't got a sword."

"Would you mind taking Professor Lockhart up to the infirmary, Mr. Nott?" Dumbledore said to Ron. "Mr. Potter, you can accompany Miss Zabini. Now—"

Nearly Headless Nick burst into the office, quickly followed by the Bloody Baron. "Headmaster, you will never believe who we just saw wandering around in the halls!"

"Who, Sir Nicolas?"

At that moment another ghost floated into the room, and jaws dropped. Ginny, now not quite corporeal and glowing silver, was a ghost. Her hair, dark silver now, was framing her face, and she was still wearing her Hogwarts robes.

"Why, I do believe this is quite unbelievable!" Dumbledore said with a smile.

**oOoOo**

Blaise had gotten out of the hospital wing nearly a week ago, but she was still having nightmares. Because of the slightly addictive qualities of Dreamless Sleep potion, she could only take said potion once a week and was quite short on sleep.

(While accompanying Blaise to the infirmary, Harry had also been admitted, due to some scrape he had on his wrist and a gash on his thumb which he had somehow cut.)

The Weasleys were feeling slightly better about Harry and Blaise now, but it had little to do with their daughter returning as a ghost and more to do with the conversations they could have with their daughter, where she denied profusely that Harry and Blaise had anything whatsoever to do with her death.

Harry and Blaise were just now getting around to having their own chats with Ginny.

Blaise ran into the ghost-girl first. Harry didn't know the specifics of that conversation, but he did know that afterward Blaise's nightmares had reduced dramatically, and she was smiling and laughing more often.

It was two days afterward that Harry got to have his own talk with the girl.

"So, what's it like, being a ghost?" was Harry's first question.

"Well, I have a hard time remembering that I can't open doors, and that I can just float right through them. I have problems with the floating thing, too. I want to walk, but instead I float. Then there's that thing where you remember you can fly, but the Bloody Baron tells me that next year I'll be able to fly into the Great Hall after the first years are Sorted, which sounds like fun," Ginny answered.

"That does sound like fun. . . ."

"But what I'm really looking forward to are next year's pranks," Ginny continued with a grin.

"Pranks?" asked Harry.

"Of course! You don't really think I'm going to let my power of becoming invisible go to waste, do you?"

Ginny giggled at the look on Harry's face.

"Think about it. If I walk halfway through a wall and then you were to walk through me, you could walk through a wall as well."

"Really?" Harry asked, becoming intrigued.

"Yeah, and then there's the relatively simple pranks where I can sneak up behind people and suddenly yell 'Boo!' straight into their ear. . . ."

**oOoOo**

In accordance to Ginny's wishes, the Weasley family didn't hold a service at Hogwarts, but instead had a small one with only the family where they buried her on the side of their makeshift Quidditch pitch. Ginny wanted the whole of Hogwarts to feast, because, even though someone had died, all the Petrified people had been subjected to the Mandrake draught, and were now up and, literally, running. (Colin Creevey had had to run five laps around the lake before he calmed down to his natural perky state.)

What Ginny really wanted was for Hogwarts to celebrate, not mourn, the closing of the Chamber of Secrets. In her opinion it wasn't right to mourn for one person when so many other people's lives were saved.

The feast was an extravagant one for sure. There were mounds upon mounds of every flavor of treacle tart Harry could imagine, and Blaise had enough chocolate chip cupcakes to last her a lifetime. Theo, thinking no one was watching, pigged out on Peppermint Imps while Hermione (on the other side of the hall), caved in at seeing the pile of Toothflossing Stringmints. Malfoy even caved in at seeing the bowls of Ice Mice and Chocolate Frogs.

The best part came in a shower of sparkles. Fred and George (together with slight help from Harry and Blaise) had decided upon the best way to mourn Ginny's death, and after the end of the feast, yet before Dumbledore stood up to announce it, they stood up from their place at Gryffindor table and shouted out, "We love you, Ginny!" before releasing several fireworks into the air, which boomed and clapped and shattered before falling into words:

**We Love You, Ginny!**

The words were written in elegant loops and spirals, and it brought tears to Ginny's silver eyes.

And in that moment, Harry knew that even if Ginny had died, she was still with them, and that was more than they could have ever asked for.

**oOoOo**

Dumbledore called them to his office after the feast, giving Harry an odd sense of déjà vu. Again, it was so they could discuss where they would be going for the holidays, but this time there were no Dursleys involved.

"I believe that, in the light of the first few weeks of last summer, the Dursley family has refused to let you set foot in their home again," said Dumbledore with a small smile, twinkling at them over his spectacles.

"Where will we be going?" asked Blaise. "The Weasleys?"

"I don't think living with the Weasleys for the summer would do any good for the inexplicable guilt you both feel over Miss Weasley's death. However, I have been able to root up an old friend of your mother's, Harry, and she would be delighted to care for you two over the summer."

"Well?" Harry prodded. "Who is it?"

"I doubt the name would mean much to you, but her name is Hestia Jones."

**oOoOo**

Gulping slightly at the sheer amount of courage that it took for her to just walk _into_ the library, Blaise browsed the shelves, looking for the section on periodicals.

To be honest she had been a bit nervous just to walk in here. Sure, Malfoy had caught her interest when he called her a blood traitor, but it was another thing to go in here alone without back-up and Harry's support.

But she had been scared of what he would think. Would he think she was crazy for believing something Malfoy had said? Yet she wasn't crazy. . . . He had sounded so serious. It made her think, and the wait from her own anxiety was nearly unbearable.

In fact, she wasn't even supposed to be in here. The teachers were all keeping a secure watch on the students to make sure that nothing else happened. . . . Even though they had been assured the Petrifier had been—er, dealt with.

Uh-oh. Harry was now probably wondering where she was. He may even think she had gone to . . . off . . . herself after what she had . . . done. Riddle. That bastard. He had deserved it, she knew that, but to think of what had happened still gave her the chill-bumps and enough nightmares to make her peakish and give her dark half-moons under her eyes.

She had to hurry.

Blaise found the section on periodicals at the back of the library along one wall due to the _Daily Prophet_ insignias on each paper. There were also sections for _Witch Weekly_, _Quidditch!_ magazine, and Transfiguration and Potions papers. She skipped the other publications and went straight to the _Daily Prophet_. If there was anything that would report something unsavory while putting people in a bad light, it would be the _Daily Prophet_.

She searched the shelves and growled, not finding what she wanted immediately, before moving over to where they kept the periodical search globe. Blaise tapped it and said, "Periodicals concerning deaths between 1980 and 1982."

Immediately copies and clips from newspapers during this period appeared on the shelves, each seeming to concern a Death Eater killing or old people obituaries. She quickly began scanning them, looking for a headline that might say Zabini, or an article about her family in general, really.

Was that too much to ask for?

It took some digging and searching (there seemed to be a lot of deaths in 1980 and '81, each mostly about a light family being mass murdered, or a convicted Death Eater being given the Kiss), but at least she found what she came there for.

But what exactly had she come here for?

To see the truth about why she had been sent to a Muggle orphanage?

To find out how her parents had been killed?

Or maybe it was to finally ease her mind?

But then again, maybe it was just so she could see why Lucius Malfoy glared at her so much in Flourish and Blotts. . . .

Oh, who the bloody hell really cared? As long as she found out, which meant she had to actually _look_ and _read_ the article she had seen her family name on.

Hmm, decisions, decisions . . .

Okay, so she was scared to look at it, but who told you that Blaise Cyrilla Zabini was a Gryffindork? No one, that's who! She was a Slytherin, and boy was she acting . . . like . . . one. . . .

"Oh, just look at the damn article, Zabini," she muttered angrily to herself.

Blaise took a deep breath to steel herself, and then read the headline.

Her eyes grew round as Galleons.

Damn.

**oOoOo**

Theo was softly humming to himself as he shuffled his hand around his box of Every Flavor Beans, trying to find one that would appeal to his senses. After finally finding one that appeared to be cherry, he grinned and popped it into his mouth.

—And promptly spit it back out again.

The raucous compartment suddenly got quiet as everyone looked at him in confusion. Harry was glaring at him and trying to find the place where the bean had gotten stuck in his messy head of hair.

Blaise giggled and grabbed his head so she could get the bean out, since Harry was obviously having trouble finding it. She quickly found the bean and threw it out the window before wiping her hand on Theo's shirt.

Theo grinned shyly. "Sorry. It was blood-flavored."

"Yeah, yeah," Blaise answered distractedly, still trying to wipe germs from her hand.

Harry cringed and thought about getting his hair washed at the first opportunity that arose.

"I am sorry."

"It'll be fine. . . . As soon as I get my hair washed." Harry said with a grin.

Theo looked as if her were about to say something else, but before he could, a girl with bushy brown hair burst into the compartment.

"What's wrong with you?" Blaise asked as Hermione gasped for breath.

"Fred and George . . . dungbombs . . . in the compartment. . . ."

"That's okay, 'Mione. We'll completely understand if you want to stay with us for the rest of the ride." Theo smiled, scooting over so the Gryffindor could sit down.

"Thanks," the out-of-breath girl said as she took the proffered seat.

"So how did your time with Weaselbee go?" Blaise asked as she picked up a licorice wand and bit off a bite.

Hermione rolled her eyes in obvious agitation. "He's a good friend." To the three Slytherins' doubtful faces, she continued, "He is a bit moody, and he gets quite jealous, and he hates Slytherins with a vengeance." Hermione glared at them. "And you three are _not_ helping. . . ."

"Why not? We treat him just like we treat everyone else!" Harry exclaimed.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, and Harry had the courtesy to blush. "Maybe, but he doesn't see it that way. Especially not after what happened to his little sister."

The cheerful mood in the compartment immediately lessened. Any mention of Ginny seemed to do that to people.

Before anyone could continue, a voice said throughout the train, "_Everyone please get their luggage ready. We will be arriving at King's Cross in approximately five minutes."_

Harry sighed before looking at his best friend, who was finishing off her licorice wand.

"Ready, Blaise?"

Blaise licked her fingers clean.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

**oOoOo**

**Authoress's Note:** Yes, this is the end of my version of _The Orphan: Book Two._ I would like to thank _SaphirePhoenix_, the author of _Book One_, for her immeasurable help and well of ideas. Also, I love every single one of my reviewers: Every comment means more to me than you could possibly know.

Thank you, and if you wish to continue reading my version of the adventures of Harry and Blaise, put me on your author alerts! _The Orphan: Book Three _will be up as soon as I've finished my outline!


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